THE    WHITE    SAIL 

tfjer   Poems 


0  0  THE  WHITE  SAIL 

AND  OTHER  POEMS.   it    BY 
LOUISE  IMOGEN  GUINEY  * 


TICKNOR  &  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS,    BOSTON 


Copyright,  1887, 
BY    TlCKNOR   AND    COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved. 


©hufcersttg 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


/J  SALUTE  by  nigTit,  than  night's  own  heart-beat  stiller, 

From  the  dying  to  the  living.     Keats  !  I  lay 
Here  against  thy  moonlit,  storm-unshaken  pillar, 
Rfy  garland  of  a  day. 


700309 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE   WHITE  SAII .  n 

Eerjcrtlis. 

TARPEIA 35 

THE  CALIPH  AND  THE  BEGGAR 40 

THE  RISE  OF  THE  TIDE 44 

CHALUZ  CASTLE 48 

THE  WOOING  PINE 51 

THE  SERPENT'S  CROWN 57 

MOUSTACHE 62 

RANIERI      .    .    . 65 

SAINT  CADOC'S  BELL 68 

A  CHOUAN 76 

Egrt'cs. 

YOUTH 83 

THE  LAST  FAUN     .    .    . 85 

KNIGHTS  OF  WEATHER 87 

DAYBREAK 90 

ON  SOME  OLD  Music 91 

LATE  PEACE 94 

To  A  YOUNG  POET 97 

DE  MORTUIS 98 

DOWN  STREAM 99 

THE  INDIAN  PIPE 103 


Vi  n  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

BROOK  FARM 105 

'My  TIMES  ARE  IN  THY  HANDS' 107 

GARDEN  CHIDINGS 108 

FREDERIC  OZANAM 109 

BANKRUPT iro 

A  REASON  FOR  SILENCE      •    •  n 112 

TEMPTATION 113 

FOR  A  CHILD 115 

AGLAUS 116 

AN  AUDITOR 118 

THE  WATER-TEXT "...    .    .  119 

CYCLAMEN 120 

A  PASSING  SONG 124 

IN  TIME 125 

THE  WILD  RIDE 126 

THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  HOUSE 128 

A  LAST  WORD  ON  SHELLEY 129 

IMMUNITY 130 

PAULA'S  EPITAPH 131 

JOHN  BROWN  :  A  PARADOX 132 

Sonnets, 

APRIL  DESIRE 137 

TWOFOLD  SERVICE 138 

IN  THE  GYMNASIUM 139 

A  SALUTATION 140 

AT  A  SYMPHONY 141 

SLEEP 142 

THE  ATONING  YESTERDAY 143 

'  RUSSIA  UNDER  THE  CZARS  ' 144 

FOUR  SONNETS  FROM  'LA  VITA  NUOVA' 14$ 


THE    WHITE    SAIL 


THE    WHITE    SAIL. 

IGH  on  the  lone  and  wave-scarred  porphyry, 

The  promontoried  porch  of  Attica, 
Past  evenfall,  sat  he  whose  reverend  hair 
Down-glittered  with  the  breaker's  volleying  foam 
Visioned  before  him  in  the  level  dark : 
/Egeus,  of  wronged  Pandion  heir,  and  king. 
And  round  about  his  knees,  and  at  his  feet, 
In  saffrons  and  sad  greens  alone  bedight, 
Sat,  clustered  in  dim  wayward  sidelong  groups 
Sheer  to  the  ocean's  edge,  those  liegemen  fond 
Who  with  him  wished  and  wept.     As  thro'  the  hours 
Of  ebbing  autumn,  on  a  northward  hill, 
Lies  summer's  russet  ruined  panoply, 
Knotted  and  heaped  by  the  fantastic  winds 
Hap-hazard,  while  the  first  adventuring  snow 
Globes  itself  on  the  summit ;  so  they  clung 
Secure  among  the  ranged  crevices, 


12  THE    WHITE  SAIL. 

Month  after  month,  and  wakeful  night  on  night 
Vigilant ;  ever  neighbored  and  o'ertopped 
With  that  white  presence,  and  the  boding  sky. 

And  ^JEgeus  prayed :,  '  O  give  me  back  but  him  ! 
\  ^My  Jcfesert;  palm,  my  moorland  mid -day  fount, 
My  leopard-foot,  in  equal  tameless  grace 
Swaying  suavely  down  cool  garden-paths 
Or  into  battle's  maw  :  my  lad  of  Athens  ! 
With  bronze  and  tangly  curls  a-toss,  to  show 
Infancy's  golden-silken  underglow  •, 
The  glad  eye  dusking  blue,  as  is  the  sea 
Ere  fiery  sunset  tricks  it ;  and  the  lashes 
In  one  close  sombre  file  against  his  cheek, 
Enphalanxed  in  perpetual  trail  and  droop, 
Wherethro*  gleams  laughter  as  thro'  sorrow's  pale, 
And  anger's  self  doth  tremble  maidenly  ; 
The  massy  throat ;  the  nostril  mobile,  smooth  ; 
The  breast  full-orbed  with  arduous  large  pride, 
As  I  so  oft  have  marked,  when  from  the  chase, 
The  witness-dropping  knife  swung  with  the  bow, 
Heading  the  burdened  company,  he  came, 
Aye  vermeil  with  the  wholesome  wind,  outwrestler 
Of  storms  and  perils  all.     High-mettled  Theseus  ! 
Keystone  of  greatness,  bond  of  expectation, 
Stay  of  this  realm  !  in  his  strong-sinewed  beauty 


THE   WHITE  SAIL.  13 

Dear  unto  men  as  Tanais  bright-sanded 

Whose  flood  harmonious  lapses  on  the  ear, 

And  makes  for  hearts  yoke-wearied,  thither  roaming, 

Thrice  feastful  holiday.     Ah,  righteous  gods  ! 

Forasmuch  as  I  love  him  and  await  him, 

Who  from  my  youth  have  been  your  servitor, 

Yield  my  old  age  its  boon  of  vindication  : 

Haven  the  happy  ship  here,  ere  I  die.' 

Still  heedlessly  the  hushed  moon  bent  her  bow 

Over  the  unshorn  forest  oakenry 

And  the  dense  gladiate  leaves  of  Thorax's  pine  : 

The  cold  and  incommunicable  moon, 

Waxing  and  waning  thro'  the  barren  time 

That  brought  not  Theseus'  self,  nor  of  him  sign, 

Nor  any  waif  of  rumor  out  of  Crete, 

Whereto,  a  year  nigh  gone,  the  ship  had  sped 

Forlorn  ;  her  decks  enshrouded  in  plucked  yew 

Strewn  to  the  mizzen ;  and  her  oary  props 

And  halyards  all  with  blossomed  myrtle  twined, 

And  every  sail  dark  as  from  looms  of  hell, 

In  token  of  the  universal  dole. 

And  on  her  heaved  anchor  and  spurred  keel 

Cheers  none,  but  protest,  moans,  and  ire  attended, 

When  from  the  quay,  in  melancholy  weather 

Forward  she  sobbed  on  black  unwilling  wing. 


14  THE   WHITE  SAIL. 

But  ere  that  going  drear,  one  foot  ashore, 
Theseus  with  his  mild  comrades  hand  in  hand,  — 
The  seven  maids  and  boys  to  bondage  sealed, 
Lifted  his  head,  and  met  his  father's  eyes, 
And  out  of  morning  ardor  made  this  oath  : 
*  My  people,  stand  not  for  our  sakes  in  tears  ! 
No  shape  of  ill  shall  daunt  me  ;  I  will  strike 
And  overcome,  Heaven's  favor  for  my  shield. 
And  when  engirt  with  conquest  I  return 
(Or  never  else  hies  Theseus  hitherward), 
That  ye  may  read  my  heart  while  yet  at  sea, 
And  know  indeed  that  fate  hath  used  me  fair, 
That  these  your  lambs  I  shepherd  and  lead  home, 
Lo,  I  will  set  upon  the  central  mast 
The  sky-sail  white  !  white  to  the  hollowing  breeze, 
White  to  that  fierce  and  alien  coast,  and  white 
To  your  espial,  from  the  horizon's  brink 
Unto  the  moored  fulfilment  of  your  joy. 
Watch  :  you  that  keep  your  faith  and  love  in  me.' 

And  they  believed  and  watched,  albeit  with  dread, 

Steadfastly  without  plaint,  to  soothe  the  king, 

Who,  taciturn  and  close-engarmented, 

From  his  nocturnal  towered  station  leaned 

Pining  against  the  unresponsive  tide. 

And  thro'  his  brain,  with  hum  processional, 


THE   WHITE  SAIL.  15 

Wheeled  memories  of  Theseus,  deeds  of  Theseus, 
The  race  he  won  of  yore,  the  song  he  sang ; 
His  truth,  his  eloquence,  his  April  moods, 
And  all  his  championship  of  trodden  tribes, 
Since  first  he  lit  on  Athens,  like  a  star. 

For  ^Egeus,  to  the  low-voiced  Meta  wed, 

Thereafter  to  Rhexenor's  daughter  spouse, 

Childless,  and  by  his  brethren's  guile  deposed, 

Led  by  a  last  mysterious  oracle, 

Once,  exiled,  to  Troezene  wandered  down  ; 

And  there,  accorded  Aphrodite's  grace, 

To  whom  the  sacrificial  smoke  he  raised, 

Atonement  and  conciliation  sweet, 

Begot  to  Greece  her  hero  ;  and  straightway 

Bereaved  ^Ethra,  of  old  Pelops'  race 

Forsook,  by  destined  rumor  summoned  home. 

But  with  the  auroral  kiss  of  parting,  he 

In  the  spring  sunshine,  on  the  mellow  shore 

Laid  his  huge  blade  beneath  a  caverned  rock, 

And  both  the  jewelled  sandals  from  his  feet, 

With  lofty  exhortation  :  '  Bid  my  son, 

When  he,  with  strength  inherited  of  mine 

Can  heave  this  boulder,  take  the  sword  and  shoon, 

And  claim  in  Athens  me  his  sire.     Farewell ! ' 


1 6  THE  WHITE  SAIL. 

And  ^Ethra  bided,  dreaming,  at  the  court, 

Till  from  her  knee  laughed  back  her  own  blue  eyes. 

And  the  young  boy,  loosed  in  sun-dappled  groves, 

Defiant,  chased  the  droning  harvest-fly, 

Or  nicked  pomegranates  with  his  ruddy  thumb 

Ripe  from  the  bough  ;  nor  would  his  mother  chide, 

But  with  strange  awe  hang  o'er  him  worshipping, 

As  one  that  turns  with  passionate-praying  lips 

East  to  the  Delian  shrine  he  shall  not  see  : 

Save  once,  when  he  a  turtle-pigeon  pent 

In  wicker-work  of  some  swart  soldier's  skill, 

With  lisping  promise  aye  to  nourish  it ; 

And  stroked  his  plaining  bird  for  one  long  day, 

But  on  the  morrow  ceased  his  fostering, 

And  left  his  captive  caged,  the  tiny  gourd 

Of  water  unreplenished.     Then  the  child 

Bewailed  his  darling,  lying  stiff  and  mute  ; 

And  yEthra  held  his  innocent  hand  in  hers 

With  solemn  lessoning ;  for  she  foresaw 

Remorse,  and  irremediable  ache, 

And  ruin,  following  him  whose  manhood  swerves 

To  the  eased  byways  of  forgetfulness. 

She,  his  hot  brows  caressing,  so  besought 

The  weeping  prince  :  '  If  thou,  O  little  son  ! 


THE  WHITE  SAIL.  17 

Wilt  lay  hereafter  duties  on  thyself, 
Stand  mindful  of  them  ;  all  thy  vows  observe. 
Be  a  trust  broken  but  a  small,  small  thing, 
Its  possible  shadow  slaves  this  world  in  woe.' 
And  ere  the  dial  veered,  did  ./Ethra  speak 
His  vanished  father's  name  and  gave  the  charge, 
And  led  him  to  the  rock,  and  in  him  fired 
The  aspirations  of  his  godlike  race. 

Lost  quite  to  former  pastimes,  thenceforth  he 
Brooded  on  her  sweet  chronicle  ;  and  oft 
Burst  thro'  arcades  and  vaporous  aisles  of  dawn, 
And  stood,  flushed  in  the  rubious  dimpling  light, 
Straining  his  thews  at  sunrise,  to  cajole 
The  granite  treasurer  of  those  tokens  twain  : 
With  his  young  heel  intrenched  in  faithless  sand, 
His  cloud  of  yellow  hair  hanging  before, 
Tugged  at  the  flint ;  or  pressed  his  forward  knee 
With  obdurate  sieges,  into  its  hard  side ; 
Anon,  with  restful  rosy  stretch  of  limb, 
Plunged  to  the  onset,  hound-like,  on  all  fours, 
Beating  a  moated  way  about  that  place 
Where  the  grim  guardian  held  a  fixed  foot ; 
And  ever,  noon  on  noon,  with  petulant  tears. 
Stole  back,  o'ervanquished,  to  his  quiet  nooks. 
There  would  he  woo  his  mother's  frequent  tale, 

2 


1 3  THE   WHITE  SAIL. 

And  urge  her  gentle  prophecy,  that  he 
The  kinsman  of  great  Herakles,  should  too 
Rise,  mighty,  and  o'er  earth's  fell  odds  prevail. 
Wherefore,  at  waking-time,  he  plucked  up  heart 
To  wrestle  with  the  pitiless  rock  anew, 
Season  on  season,  patient.     And  behold, 
When  the  tenth  summer's  delicate  keen  dews 
Died  from  his  shoreward  path,  at  last  befell 
One  sure  petrean  tremor,  one  weird  shock 
At  his  tense  vigor ;  and  ere  twilight  failed, 
Clean  to  the  sea's  verge  rolled  that  doughty  bulk  ! 
And  Theseus,  in  his  full  inheritance, 
In  the  superb  meridian  of  his  youth, 
Sandalled,  the  great  hilt  hard  against  his  breast, 
Climbed  to  his  mother's  bower.     yEthra  laid 
Her  lips  to  his  warm  cygnet  neck,  and  swooned, 
Thereby  apprised  the  destined  hour  had  come, 
And  having  sped  her  boy  upon  his  quest, 
Drooped,  like  a  sun-void  lily,  and  so  died. 

Then  radiant  Theseus,  journeying  overland, 
All  robber-plagues  infesting  those  still  glens 
Physicianed,  and  redeemed  all  realms  distressed. 
Phaea,  prodigious  Crommyonian  shape, 
Apt  Cercyon  of  Arcadia,  he  slew ; 
And  of  his  dominant  valor  overcame 


THE   WHITE  SAIL.  19 

The  smith-god's  son,  who  with  the  mortal  mace 
Beleaguered  travellers  in  Epidaur ; 
Unburied  martyrs  fitly  to  avenge, 
He  harsh  Procrustes  bedded ;  limb  from  limb 
Rent  the  Pine-bender  on  recoiling  boughs  ; 
And  him  that  thrust  the  lavers  of  his  feet 
Headlong  in  chasms,  Theseus  likewise  served 
By  dint  of  hospitable  precedent ; 
-Wide  Marathonia's  lordly  bull  he  led, 
Engarlanded  with  hyacinth  and  rose. 
To  the  knife's  edge  at  bland  Apollo's  shrine ; 
Last,  guided  to  a  grove  sabbatical, 
Knelt  to  the  chanting  white  Phytalidae, 
And  in  their  midst  was  chrismed,  and  purified 
From  all  the  bloodshed  of  his  troublous  path. 

On  to  the  gate  of  Athens  Theseus  strode, 
Docile  to  ^Ethra's  warning,  that  unnamed, 
And  with  strict  privacy,  he  should  seek  his  sire ; 
For  fifty  jealous  sons  of  Pallas  held 
The  city's  sovereignty ;  and  overruled 
Their  father's  childless  brother,  /Egeus  old  : 
The  agile,  able,  proud  Pallantidae, 
Whose  wrath  would  rise  against  the  tardy  heir, 
Tumultuous,  and  encompass  Greece  in  war. 
Therefore,  unheralded,  with  wary  step, 


20  THE  WHITE  SAIL. 

Chancing  upon  an  open  banquet-hall, 

Preceded  of  his  fame,  came  brave-arrayed 

The  stranger  hero,  but  erewhile  a  boy ; 

And  straight,  along  the  heaped  board  glancing  down, 

Evil  Medea,  on  her  harmful  track 

From  Corinth  unto  Colchis,  intercepted. 

This  was  Medea  of  the  Fleecemen,  late 
Her  tender  brother's  slayer,  whose  vile  spells 
Had  promised  ^Egeus  princes  of  his  blood. 
Stole  from  him,  at  the  beck  of  that  mock  moon, 
Honor,  the  flood  august  of  all  his  life  : 
For  he,  distrustful  of  the  oracles, 
Inasmuch  as  Trcezene  flowered  no  hope, 
Now  in  the  season  of  his  utmost  need, 
Subservient  to  the  sorceress  and  her  whims, 
Blasphemed,  in  slackened  faith,  and  clave  to  her ; 
And  strangling  conscience,  made  his  thraldom  fine 
With  golden  incident  and  public  pomp, 
Holding  by  night  most  sumptuous  festival, 
Feasting  beside  her,  restless  and  unthroned. 
Now  Theseus  knew  that  wily  woman's  face, 
Who,  reading  her  arraignment  in  his  eyes, 
Shrank  close  to  ^Egetis,  voluble  with  fear, 
And  urged  within  his  palm  a  carven  bowl, 
That  he  should  bid  the  young  wayfarer  drain 


THE   WHITE  SAIL.  21 

Health  to  Medea  !  in  one  envenomed  draught : 

Which  Theseus  heard,  alert,  past  harp  and  bell, 

Past  intervening  hubbub  of  rich  mirth, 

And  sprang  to  cower  the  temptress  with  a  word. 

But  at  the  instant,  sprang  her  minions  too, 

And  riot  and  upbraidings  dire  began, 

Conflict,  and  scorn,  and  drunken  challenging. 

Then  leaped  quicksilvered  Theseus  thro'  the  fray, 

With  love's  suspicion  kindling  in  his  veins, 

And  gained  that  space  before  the  startled  host 

Whence  from  her  couch  Medea  shrieked  away : 

Limned  beautiful  and  clear  from  front  to  feet, 

Shod  with  the  shoon  ^Egean  ;  and  his  arm 

Sabred  with  the  one  sword  that  ^Egeus  knew  ! 

Who,  blanching  'neath  roused  memory's  ebb  and  flow, 

Among  the  wrangling  merry-makers  all, 

Clarioned  '  My  own  ! '  and  strained  him  to  his  breast. 

Theseus,  in  those  fresh  days  of  his  return, 
Tarried  not  idle  ;  but  with  warlike  haste 
Bore  down  on  the  usurping  lords  of  state, 
Juniors  and  kin  of  his  discrowned  sire ; 
Them,  ere  the  morrow  dwindled,  he  beheld 
Scattered  as  chaff  from  off  the  threshing-floor, 
And  ^Egeus,  o'er  the  wreckage  of  their  reign 
Exalted,  with  calm  brows  indiademed. 


22  THE  WHITE  SAIL. 

Then  was  the  sacred  and  sequestered  prime 

Of  liberation,  benison,  and  peace  ; 

When  the  round  heaven,  in  summer's  ministrance 

Rolled  on  its  choral  axle  ;  till,  at  end 

Like  to  a  cloudlet  that  assails  the  blue, 

Comely  and  yet  with  rains  ingerminate, 

Minos  the  Cretan  unto  Athens  sent 

His  nimble  princeling.     In  a  fortnight's  span, 

The  island  lad,  competing  in  the  games, 

Won  fairly  ;  whereupon  the  envious  mob 

Made  rude  revolt,  and  took  upon  itself 

The  barbarous  dishonor  of  his  death. 

And  vengeful  Minos  sailed,  and  razed  the  town, 

Laying  the  bitter  forfeit  in  this  wise  : 

'  Athens  shall  yearly  proffer  unto  me 

Her  virgin  tribute  of  patrician  seed, 

Seven  youths,  and  maidens  seven,  as  by  lot, 

Wherewith  to  feed  the  ravenous  Minotaur.' 

Athens  the  peerless  bowed  her  ashen  head. 

So  dragged  the  dreadful  twelvemonth  thro'  the  realm, 

Aye  of  its  dearest  blood  depopulate, 

And  losing  grasp  on  life.     The  fourth  weak  year, 

Youngest  of  all  departed,  full  thirteen 

Faltered  aboard  the  deck  calamitous  ; 

And  with  them  Theseus,  best-beloved  Theseus, 


THE  WHITE  SAIL.  23 

The  king's  sole-born,  whom  last  the  doom  befell. 
But  as  no  sister-galley  e'er  set  out 
To  dolorous  ports  predestined,  in  due  lapse 
Returning  with  her  steersman,  went  this  ship, 
Not  hopeless  ;  now  her  bravest  made  his  vaunt 
To  thread  the  maze  Daedalian,  and  destroy 
The  pampered  monster,  holding  harm  at  bay 
From  the  frail  flock  of  Athens  ;  and  to  flash 
Homeward,  to  chime  of  oar-compelled  waves, 
Signalling  with  the  white  exultant  sail ! 
'  So  that  I  live,  this  thing,'  he  said,  '  is  sworn  : 
Watch  !  you  that  keep  your  faith  and  love  in  me.' 

Such  tales  of  Theseus'  youth  his  father's  mind 

Rehearsed,  while  at  his  vigil  in  the  night, 

Deep  pondering  on  each  noble  circumstance, 

As  a  man  shifteth,  thro'  an  idle  hour, 

Anon  with  hand  in  light,  anon  in  shade, 

The  lustres  of  his  one  memorial  gem. 

And  oft  the  king,  with  a  foreboding  throe 

Called,  urging  eld's  unserviceable  sight : 

'Shines  the  white  sail  yet?'      Spake   the    murmurous 

ring: 

'  Nay;  but  fantastic  clouds  low- wandering  on.' 
Then  the  fond  voice  of  ^Egeus,  askingly  : 
'  Alcamenes  !  yield  my  sad  heart  a  song.' 


24  THE   WHITE  SAIL. 

Rose  kind  Alcamenes,  who  from  his  birth 
The  king  had  cherished,  from  a  mossy  seat, 
The  anxious  faces  turned  his  happy  way ; 
And  with  his  pose  quiescent,  lyre  in  arm, 
Breathed  forth  a  simple  ditty,  sweet-sustained 
Against  the  diapason  of  the  sea. 

'  Thy  voice  is  like  the  moon,  revealed  by  stealthy  paces, 
Thy  silver-margined  voice  like  the  ample  moon  and  free  : 
Ah,  beautiful !  ah.  mighty  !  the  stars  fall  on  their  faces, 
The  warring  world  is  silent,  for  love  and  awe  of  thee. 

'  My  soul  is  but  a  sailor,  to  whom  thy  wonder-singing 
Is  anchorage,  and  haven,  and  unimagined  day  ! 
And  who,  in  angry  ocean,  to  thine  enchantment  clinging, 
Forgets  the  helm  for  rapture,  and  drifts  to  doom  away.' 

But  the  king  hid  his  brow  in  both  wan  hands, 
Sighing  :  '  That  song  at  her  beguiling  feet, 
Out  of  my  brief  enslavement,  did  I  make 
The  year  that  Theseus  on  our  revels  stole. 
It  sears  me  like  a  brand  with  fires  o'erpast : 
Be  silent,  my  Alcamenes  !  spare  it  me. 
Thou  rather,  Theron,  sing  !  Engird  my  pain 
With  some  thrice-gallant  catch,  some  madrigal 
That  sets  the  dull  blood  dancing.'     Theron  smiled, 


THE   WHITE  SAIL.  25 

Masking  suspense  (for  he  was  Theseus'  friend), 
Half-prone  beneath  his  damask  cloak,  with  chin 
Hand-propped ;  and  fixed  his  dark  eyes  on  the  king, 
In  trolling  of  an  agitated  lay. 

'  I  drowse  in  the  grass,  to  the  crickets'  elfin  strings, 
With  boughs  and  the  sun  about,  with  bowl  and  book, 
At  the  flood-tide  of  my  youth,  in  the  pearl  of  springs, 
Cydippe's  hand  in  my  hair.  .  .  .  Ah,  horrible  thrill ! 
Once  I  was  rash,  once  I  was  wrong.     Quick,  look, 
My  heart !  in  thy  tremor,  over  the  herded  hill, 
In  clefts  of  the  moss,  in  swirls  of  the  sliding  brook  : 
Somewhere  the  Vengeance  lurks  to  defile  and  kill  ! 
My  arrow  back  to  me  somewhere  hisses  and  sings, 
Aye,  justly ;  aye,  bitterly,  justly.     Steady,  heart !  there. 
See,  I  laugh  as  I  lie  :  on  the  brink  of  the  jar  yet  clings 
Sweet  foam  ;  and  I  kiss  Cydippe's  hand  thro'  my  hair.' 

Again,  with  swift  uneasy  gesturing 
Turned  ^Egeus,  chiding,  and  protested  ere 
The  whipped-up  courage  of  that  roundel's  close  : 
*  Cease,  Theron  !  this  is  but  an  ominous  song, 
A  song  of  retribution.'     For  he  thought : 
'  So  retribution  dogs  my  bruised  age  ; 
Still,  still  Medea's  soft  and  deadly  name 
Stings  all  the  leafy  splendor  of  my  life, 


26  THE   WHITE  SAIL. 

And  daunts  the  morrow's  bud.     And  if  there  be 
A  reckoning  I  must  pay  for  follies  past, 
Must  it  be  —  O  not  that,  not  now,  not  here  ! ' 
And  drawing  to  his  height,  he  cried  :  '  The  sail  ? 
Comes   the    sail    from   the   south?  '     They   chorused 

'  Naught 

Save  argent  flutterings  of  the  shoreward  gull.' 
And  /Egeus,  craving  solace,  urged  once  more  : 
'  Rhodalus  !  sing  thou  what  shall  heal  my  soul, 
In  numbers  honey-clear.'     Now  Rhodalus 
The  poet,  too,  was  loyal  sentinel ; 
A  fiery  patriot,  wont  to  domineer 
The  moods  of  Athens  ;  very  potent  he, 
And  flexile-throated  as  the  nightingale. 
With  all  his  fingers  knit  about  his  knee, 
And  head  against  a  hoary  pillar  raised, 
Dream-locked,  upon  the  lowest  sprayey  ledge, 
Riddling  the  unintelligible  space,  — 
Void  thrones,  and  filmy  wakes  of  fugitives, 
And  interstellar  agonies  of  midnight ; 
To  him  the  king's  voice  throbbed  a  second  time  : 
'  Rhodalus  !  sing  thou  what  shall  heal  my  soul.' 
Who,  grave  with  poesy's  most  candid  mien, 
Answered  the  summons  softly  :  '  Sire,  I  cannot. 
The  music  of  my  brothers  is  amiss, 
So  mine  would  be.     Our  strings  are  jangled,  wrested 


THE  WHITE  SAIL.  27 

From  their  discreet  and  silvern  vassalage, 
Snapped  quite  with  languishment  for  Theseus'  sake. 
I  cannot  sing.     But  O  you  holy  stars  ! 
Stretching  to  us  your  tendrils  of  high  glory  ; 
Tacit  compellers  of  our  wayward  spirits  ; 
You  domed  guardians  of  this  tear-bound  earth, 
You  rich-wrought  visions,  charioted  thousands 
Hale  rank  on  rank,  thro'  warless  cities  riding  ! 
Young  semispheric  moon,  O  burning  Seven, 
Hesper  and  Phosphor  !  blue  hour-measuring  orbs 
That  elsewhere  look  on  Theseus  !    Speed  his  pinnace, 
Bide  thro'  the  watches  with  us  ;  shine  ;  exhale  not ! ' 
And  the  dense  quiet  bound  them. 

Cautiously, 

In  his  far  corner,  one  behind  the  king 
At  the  dumb  bursting-point  of  that  weird  hush, 
With  nervous  finger  twitched  his  neighbor's  sleeve, 
And  strove  to  whisper  him  with  palsied  tongue, 
And  straight  relaxed,  and  smiled ;  but  new-convinced 
Towards  twilight's  gracious  advent,  crept  in  awe 
With  arm  extended,  to  his  fellow's  side ; 
And  the  two  thrilled  alike,  immovable, 
Each  palm  down-roofed  above  the  frantic  eye, 
Froze  at  their  posts  :  which  eager  Theron  marked, 
Piloting  his  keen  sight  across  the  main, 
And  smote  his  bosom  with  quick-smothered  groan, 


28  THE  WHITE  SAIL. 

And,  breathless,  gazed  and  gazed.     By  twos  and  threes 

The  apprehensive  company  dropped  aghast 

Out  on  the  reeling  ragged  precipice 

Sparkled  and  shelled  with  the  oncoming  tide  : 

Till  yEgeus,  slow-divining  dupe  of  hope, 

Awoke,  and  knelt  him  down  against  his  throne, 

Faint  with  thanksgiving.     And  the  moments  creaked 

In  gyral  passage,  like  Ixion's  wheel, 

Spoke  on  accursed  spoke,  portending  woe. 

But  he,  athwart  his  lonely  pinnacle 

Called  like  a  ghost  from  walled  eternity : 

'  What  of  the  sail?   What  cheer?'    Their  lips  congealed 

Nothing  replied.     The  cruel  hour  rolled  on. 

Intolerable  arid  east-blown  wave 

Vaulting  on  wave  thro'  all  her  caverns  loud, 

Far  upon  Oliaros  boomed  the  sea. 

Then  bearded  Rhodalus,  compassionate, 
Spied  leaning  o'er  the  crags  the  frenzied  king, 
Rending  his  garment  to  the  paling  moon  ; 
And  yet  evasive  of  those  pleading  eyes, 
Knotting  his  arms  against  his  breast,  downcast, 
Adjured  him  :  '  O  most  reverend,  O  most  dear  ! 
The  heart  of  life  is  rotten ;  prayer  is  vain. 
Stay  up  thy  soul :  for  lo  !  the  sail  is  black.' 
And  all  the  tranced  host  burst  into  moan. 


THE    WHITE  SAIL.  29 

Old  .^Egeus,  like  a  dreamer,  muttered  '  Aye,' 
Passive  ;  and  from  his  brain  the  fever  fell, 
And  more  than  Zeus  himself,  he  things  unseen 
Saw,  and  to  unheard  choirings  lent  his  ear. 
Theseus,  truth-speaking,  vowed  the  sky-sail  white  ; 
The  sail  was  black  :  therefore  was  Theseus  dead 
In  untriumphant  state  ;  his  comrades,  dead  ; 
Dead,  the  emprise  of  Greece  ;  her  dynasty 
Ungendered,  dead  ;  the  very  gods  were  dead  ! 
And  he  alive,  alive  ?  a  wind-worn  leaf 
All  winter  gibbeted  upon  that  bough 
Whence  the  last  fruit  was  reft?     O  mockery  ! 
Inert,  of  his  own  broken  heart  impelled, 
From  the  steep,  solitary  trysting-place, 

,  like  a  stone,  dropped  in  the  sea. 


A  wraith  of  smoke,  fast-driven  against  a  flame, 
Yon  by  the  crimsoning  east  the  dark  ship  moved, 
Her  herald  noises  strangely  borne  ashore  : 
'  Joy,  joy  !  '  and  interlinked  :  '  O  joy,  O  joy, 
Athens  our  mother  !  joy  to  all  thy  gates  !  ' 
And  thunderous  firm  acclaim  of  minstrelsy, 
Laughter,  and  antheming,  and  salvos  wild 
Outran  the  racing  prow.     But  mute  they  lay, 
The  blinded  watchers,  spent  beyond  desire, 
Wounded  beyond  this  wonder's  balsaming. 


30  THE   WHITE  SAIL. 

Yet  ever,  thro*  the  trembling  lovely  light, 
Known  voice  on  voice  re-echoed,  face  on  face 
Uprose  in  resurrection.     They  were  safe, 
And  Athens,  hark  !  from  her  long  thraldom  free  ! 
And  Theseus,  victor,  sang  and  sailed  with  them, 
The  pale  unsistered  Phaedra  for  his  bride, 
For  whom  was  constant  Ariadne  cast 
On  Naxos,  where  a  god  did  comfort  her. 
Theseus  !  who  when  his  bark  the  shallows  grazed, 
Leaped  in  the  gentle  waves  for  boyish  glee, 
Gained  the  thronged  highway,  crossed  it  at  a  bound, 
Scaling  the  cliffs ;  and  stood  among  them  there, 
Clausus,  and  his  dear  Theron,  and  the  rest, 
Nodding  upon  the  clamorous  crowd  below ; 
But  they,  as  soon,  had  turned  them  blunt  away, 
In  hot  resentment  of  that  false  one.     He, 
O'erbrimming  with  frank  welcomes,  in  dismay, 
Stricken  with  sight  of  unresponsive  hands, 
Scenting  disaster,  reining  up  his  tongue, 
Asked  sharply  for  the  king. 

He  understood 

After  mad  struggle  and  bewilderment, 
And  gloomy  gazing  on  the  absent  deeps. 
Down  on  the  penitential  rock  he  sank, 
All  his  fair  body  palpitant  with  shame, 
Syllabing  agony  :  '  ^Egeus,  ^Egeus  !  ah, 


THE   WHITE  SAIL.  31 

Glory  of  Hellas  !  dead  for  trust  in  me. 
Life-giver,  irrecoverable  friend, 
My  father !  ah,  ah,  loving  father  mine, 
Ah,  dear  my  father !  .  .  .  I  forgot  the  sail.' 

And  the  great  morn  burst.     On  a  hundred  hills 
The  marigold  unbarred  her  casement  bright. 


LEGENDS 


LEGENDS. 


TARPEIA. 

[OE  :  lightly  to  part  with  one's  soul  as  the  sea  with 

its  foam  ! 
Woe  to  Tarpeia,  Tarpeia,  daughter  of  Rome  ! 

Lo,  now  it  was  night,  with  the  moon  looking  chill  as  she 

went : 
It  was  morn  when  the  innocent  stranger  strayed  into  the 

tent. 

The  hostile  Sabini  were  pleased,  as  one  meshing  a  bird ; 
She  sang  for  them  there  in  the  ambush  :  they  smiled  as 
they  heard. 

Her  sombre  hair  purpled  in  gleams,  as  she  leaned  to  the 

light; 
All  day  she  had  idled  and  feasted,  and  now  it  was  night. 


36  LEGENDS. 

The  chief  sat  apart,  heavy-browed,  brooding  elbow  on 

knee ; 
The  armlets  he  wore  were  thrice  royal,  and  wondrous 

to  see  : 

Exquisite  artifice,  whorls  of  barbaric  design, 
Frost's  fixed  mimicry ;  orbic  imaginings  fine 

In  sevenfold  coils  :  and  in  orient  glimmer  from  them, 
The  variform  voluble  swinging  of  gem  upon  gem. 

And  the  glory  thereof  sent  fever  and  fire  to  her  eye. 
'  I  had  never  such  trinkets  ! '  she  sighed,  —  like  a  lute 
was  her  sigh. 

'  Were  they  mine  at  the  plea,  were  they  mine  for  the 

token,  all  told, 
Now  the  citadel  sleeps,  now  my  father  the  keeper  is  old, 

1  If  I  go  by  the  way  that  I  know,  and  thou  followest  hard, 
If  yet  at  the  touch  of  Tarpeia  the  gates  be  unbarred  ?  ' 

The  chief  trembled  sharply  for  joy,  then  drew  rein  on 

his  soul : 
'Of  all  this  arm  beareth  I  swear  I  will  cede  thee  the 

whole.' 


TARPETA.  37 

And  up  from  the  nooks  of  the  camp,  with  hoarse  plaudit 

outdealt, 
The  bearded  Sabini  glanced  hotly,  and  vowed  as  they 

knelt, 

Bare-stretching  the  wrists  that  bore  also  the  glowing 

great  boon  : 
'  Yea  !  surely  as  over  us  shineth  the  lurid  low  moon, 

'  Not  alone  of  our  lord,  but  of  each  of  us  take  what  he 

hath  ! 
Too  poor  is  the  guerdon,  if  thou  wilt  but  show  us  the 

path.' 

Her  nostril  upraised,  like  a  fawn's  on  the  arrowy  air, 
She  sped ;  in  a  serpentine  gleam  to  the  precipice  stair. 

They  climbed  in  her  traces,  they  closed  on  their  evil 

swift  star : 
She  bent  to  the  latches,  and  swung  the  huge  portal  ajar. 

Repulsed  where  they  passed  her,  half-tearful  for  wounded 
belief, 

'  The  bracelets  ! '  she  pleaded.  Then  faced  her  the  leo 
nine  chief, 


38  LEGENDS. 

And  answered  her  :  '  Even  as  I  promised,  maid-merchant, 

•I  do.' 
Down  from  his  dark  shoulder  the  baubles  he  sullenly  drew. 

'  This  left  arm  shall  nothing  begrudge  thee.     Accept. 

Find  it  sweet. 
Give,  too,  O  my  brothers  ! '     The  jewels  he  flung  at  her 

feet, 

The  jewels  hard,  heavy;  she  stooped  to  them,  flushing 

with  dread, 
But  the  shield  he  flung  after  :  it  clanged  on  her  beautiful 

head. 

Like  the  Apennine  bells  when  the  villagers'  warnings 

begin, 
Athwart  the  first  lull  broke  the  ominous  din  upon  din ; 

With  a  '  Hail,  benefactress  ! '  upon  her  they  heaped  in 

their  zeal 
Death  :  agate  and  iron ;  death  :  chrysoprase,  beryl  and 

steel. 

'Neath  the  outcry  of  scorn,  'neath  the  sinewy  tension 

and  hurl, 
The  moaning  died  slowly,  and  still  they  massed  over  the 

girl 


TARPEIA.  39 

A  mountain  of  shields  !  and  the  gemmy  bright  tangle  in 

links, 
A  torrent-like  gush,  pouring  out  on  the  grass  from  the 

chinks, 

Pyramidal  gold  !  the  sumptuous  monument  won 
By  the  deed  they  had  loved  her  for,  doing,  and  loathed 
her  for,  done. 

Such  was  the  wage  that  they  paid  her,  such  the  acclaim  : 
All  Rome  was  aroused  with  the  thunder  that  buried  her 
shame. 

On  surged  the  Sabini  to  battle.     O  you  that  aspire  ! 
Tarpeia  the  traitor  had  fill  of  her  woman's  desire. 

Woe  :  lightly  to  part  with  one's  soul  as  the  sea  with  its 

foam  ! 
Woe  to  Tarpeia,  Tarpeia,  daughter  of  Rome  ! 


THE   CALIPH   AND   THE   BEGGAR. 

I. 

CORNER  of  the  pleading  faces, 

In  the  first  year  of  his  reign, 
From  the  lean  crowd  and  its  traces 

Down  the  open  orchard-lane 
Walked  young  Mahmoud  in  his  glory, 
In  his  pomp  and  his  disdain 

And  beyond  all  oratory, 

Music's  sweetness,  ocean's  might, 

Fell  a  voice  from  branches  hoary  : 

'  He  whose  heart  is  at  life's  height, 
Who  has  wisdom,  love,  and  riches, 
Islam's  greatest,  dies  this  night.' 

And  he  crossed  the  rampart  ditches 
Blinded,  and  confused,  and  slow  ; 
High  in  palaced  nooks  and  niches 


THE   CALIPH  AND    THE  BEGGAR.  41 

Clanged  his  fathers'  shields  a-row ; 
And  their  turrets  triple-jointed 
Shook  with  tempests  of  his  woe. 

Long  past  midnight,  disanointed, 
Prone  upon  his  breast  he  lay, 
Warring  on  that  hour  appointed  : 

But  behold  !  at  break  of  day,  — 
As  if  heaven  itself  had  spoken,  — 
Blown  across  the  bannered  bay, 

Over  mart  and  mosque  outbroken, 
Came  the  silver-solemn  chime 
For  some  parted  spirit's  token  ! 

Mahmoud,  with  free  breath  sublime, 
Summoned  one  whose  snow-locks  heaving 
Made  the  vision  of  hoar  Time  ; 

And  the  red  tides  of  thanksgiving 
On  his  lifted  brow,  he  said  : 
'  In  my  city  of  the  living, 

Which,  proclaimed  of  bells,  is  dead  ?  ' 
And  the  gray  beard  answered  :   '  Master, 
One  who  yesternight  for  bread 


42  LEGENDS. 

At  thy  gateway's  bronze  pilaster 
Begged  in  vain  :  blind  Selim,  he, 
Victim  of  the  old  disaster.' 

And  the  vassal  suddenly 

Looked  on  his  hard  lord  with  wonder, 

For  those  tears  were  strange  to  see. 


II. 

Yet  again,  where  boughs  asunder 
Held  the  wavy  orchard-tent, 
Sun-empurpled  clusters  under 

In  changed  mood  the  Caliph  went ; 
And  anew  heard  sounds  upgather, 
(C hidings  with  caressings  blent, 

As  the  voice  once  of  his  father)  : 

1  Haughty  heart !  not  thou  wert  wise, 

Rich,  beloved  ;  Selim,  rather, 

'  Islam's  prince  in  Allah's  eyes  ! 
Even  the  meek,  in  his  great  station, 
Freehold  had  of  Paradise.' 


THE   CALIPH  AND    THE  BEGGAR.  43 


III. 

When  the  plague-wind's  desolation 
Pierced  Bassora's  burning  wall, 
Circled  with  a  kneeling  nation 

Whom  his  mercies  held  in  thrall, 
Died  the  Caliph,  whispering  tender 
Counsel  to  his  liegemen  tall : 

1  One  last  service,  children  !  render 
Me,  whose  pride  the  Lord  forgave  : 
Not  by  our  supreme  Defender, 

'  Not  beside  the  holy  wave, 
Not  in  places  where  my  race  is 
Lay  me  !  but  in  Selim's  grave.' 


THE   RISE   OF  THE  TIDE. 

FISHERMAN  gray,  one  night  of  yore, 

His  nets  upgathered,  plied  the  oar, 
Right  merrily  heading  for  a  haven, 
While  summer  winds  blew  blithe  before. 

He  sat  beneath  his  pennon  white ; 
His  arms  were  brown,  his  eye  was  bright ; 
Twice  twenty  years  his  breast  had  carried 
A  ribbon  from  Lepanto's  fight. 

A  cove  he  spied  at  sunset's  edge, 
With  pleasant  trees  and  margin-sedge  ; 
And  barefoot  went  by  stakes  down-driven 
Thro'  shallows  wading  from  the  ledge, 

The  boat  drawn  after ;  but  behold  ! 
A  check  fell  on  his  venture  bold  : 
He  stood  imprisoned,  vainly  leading 
The  ropes  in  whitening  fingers  old. 


THE  RISE   OF  THE    TIDE.  45 

Within  that  black  and  marshy  sound 
His  weight  had  sunken ;  he  was  bound 
Knee-deep  !  and  as  he  beat  and  struggled, 
The  mocking  ripples  danced  around. 

Long  since  the  wood-thrush  ceased  her  song ; 
The  summer  wind  grew  fierce  and  strong ;  • 
The  shuddering  moon  went  into  hiding ; 
Down  came  the  storm  to  wreak  him  wrong. 

Against  the  prow  he  leaned  his  chin, 
Thinking  of  all  his  strength  had  been  ; 
Then  turned,  and  laughed  with  courage  steady  : 
'  O  ho  !  what  straits  we  twain  are  in  ! ' 

And  strove  anew,  unterrified, 
But  lastly,  wearied  wholly,  cried 
For  succor,  since  his  laden  wherry 
Rocked  ever  on  the  coming  tide. 


*  I  hear  a  cry  of  anguish  sore  ! ' 

But  straight  his  love  had  barred  the  door  : 

1  Bide  here  ;  the  night  bodes  naught  but  danger.' 

Loud  beat  the  waves  along  the  shore. 


46  LEGENDS. 

A  bedded  child  made  soft  behest : 
'  So  loud  the  voice  I  cannot  rest.' 
'  It  is  the  rain,  dear,  in  the  garden.' 
The  cruel  water  binds  his  breast. 


'  A  lamp,  a  lamp  !  some  traveller  's  lost ! ' 
But  thro'  the  tavern  roared  the  host : 
'  Nay,  only  thunder  rude  and  heavy.' 
Close  to  his  lips  the  foam  is  tossed. 

'  O  listen  well,  my  liege  and  king ! 

Hark  from  gay  halls  this  grievous  thing !  ' 

'  Strange  how  the  wild  wind  drowns  our  music  ! ' 

About  his  head  the  eddies  swing. 

At  stroke  of  three  the  abbot  meek 
Moved  out  among  his  flock  to  speak 
This  word,  with  tears  of  doubt  and  wonder  : 
'  I  had  a  dream  ;  come  forth  and  seek.' 

With  torch  and  flagon,  forth  they  sped  : 
The  fisher  glared  from  the  harbor-bed  ! 
The  tide,  from  his  white  hair  down-fallen, 
All  kindly  ebbed,  now  he  was  dead. 


THE  RISE   OF  THE    TIDE.  47 

Lepanto's  star  shone  fast  and  good  ; 
The  sea-kelp  wrapped  him  like  a  hood ; 
His  arms  were  stretched  in  woe  to  heaven  ; 
The  boat  had  drifted  :  so  he  stood. 

The  Unavenged  he  seemed  to  be  ! 

Then  fell  each  monk  upon  his  knee  : 

'  Lord  Christ ! '  the  abbot  sang,  awe-stricken  : 

'  Rest  my  old  rival's  soul !  '  sang  he. 


CHALUZ   CASTLE. 

HERE  sped,  at  hint  of  treasure 
Dug  from  the  garden-mould, 
Word  to  the  doughty  vassal  : 
'  Thy  sovereign  claims  the  gold  !  ' 
'  Nay,  Richard,  come  and  wrest  it !  ' 
Said  Vidomar  the  bold. 

Uprose  the  Lionhearted, 

He  locked  his  armor  on  : 

And  over  seas  that  morrow 

Around  his  gonfalon, 

The  crash  and  hiss  of  battle 

Blazed  up,  and  mocked  the  sun. 

King  Richard  led  his  bowmen 
By  Chaluz  dark  and  high  ; 
Like  rain  and  rack  they  followed 
His  flashing  storm-blue  eye  : 
Forth  peered  Bertrand  de  Gourdon 
From  the  turret  stair  thereby . 


CHALUZ  CASTLE.  49 

Thro'  morris-pikes  and  halberds 
The  king  rode  out  and  in, 
His  horse  in  gaudy  trappings, 
His  sabre  drawn  and  thin  : 
Down  knelt  Bertrand  de  Gourdon 
His  strongbow  at  his  chin. 

O  shrill  that  arrow  quivered  ! 
And  fierce  and  awful  broke 
Acclaim  in  billowy  thunder 
From  all  the  foreign  folk, 
At  mighty  Richard  fallen 
Beneath  a  foreign  oak  ! 

Then  leaped  his  English  barons, 

Converging  from  afar, 

And  loosed  the  flood  of  slaughter 

To  the  gates  of  Vidomar ; 

And  seized  Bertrand  de  Gourdon, 

As  clouds  enmesh  a  star. 

They  brought  the  bright-cheeked  archer 
Who  scoffed  not,  neither  feared, 
To  the  tent  ringed  in  with  faces 
That  menaced  in  their  beard  ; 
But  the  king's  face  lay  before  him 
In  the  lamplight  semisphered. 
4 


50  LEGENDS. 

The  king's  self,  stern  and  pallid 
Gazed  on  the  lad  that  day, 
And  as  if  dreams  were  on  him 
Besought  him  gently  :  '  Say, 
Bertrand  de  Gourdon  !  wherefore 
Thou  tak'st  my  life  away?' 

'  To  venge  my  martyr-father, 
My  foster-brethren  three  : 
In  the  name  of  thy  dead  foemen 
This  thing  I  did  to  thee  ! ' 
And  Richard  perished,  sighing  : 
'  Forgive  him.     Set  him  free  ! ' 

Alas  for  that  late  loving 

By  seneschals  betrayed ! 

While  yet  upon  his  lashes 

The  holy  tear  delayed, 

They  bound  Bertrand  de  Gourdon, 

They  slew  him  in  the  glade. 

Alas  for  noble  spirits 
Whom  fates  perverse  befall  ! 
Whence  David  in  his  beauty 
Gave  healing  unto  Saul, 
The  jeering  wind  beats  ever 
On  Chaluz  castle  wall. 


THE   WOOING   PINE. 

HERE  was  a  lady,  starshine  in  her  look, 

Of  lineage  fierce,  yet  tremulous  and  kind 
As  the  field-gossamer,  that  down  the  wind 
Floats  gleamingly  from  some  enthistled  nook ; 
And  wayward  as  her  beauty  was  her  mind 
That  evermore  bright  errant  journeys  took. 

Her  father's  houndish  lords  she  moved  among, 
From  feud  and  uproar  devvily  distraught ; 
Winnowed  her  harp  of  its  least  pain  ;  and  brought 
Delight's  full  freshet  to  a  beggar's  tongue, 
Or  spun  amid  her  maids  with  chapel-thought 
That  on  a  crystal  pivot  burned  and  swung. 

But  night  on  night,  an  exile  from  sleek  rest, 
She  nestled  warm  before  her  hearth-fire  low, 
To  watch  its  little  wind-born  planets  go 
Orbing ;  and  from  the  martyr-oak's  charred  breast, 
In  spirit-blue  flame,  in  quintuple  wild  glow, 
The  tossing  leaves  prolong  their  summer  zest. 


52  LEGENDS. 

And  ailingly,  she  needs  must  often  sigh, 
Perplexed  out  of  her  rich  wonted  glee, 
Whereof  some  unseen  warder  kept  the  key, 
And  quell  the  dark  defiance  of  her  eye 
In  patience,  as  a  torch  dips  in  the  sea. 
And  so,  in  brooding,  went  the  white  days  by. 

Unto  the  horsemen  brave  in  war's  array 
She  waved  no  token  from  her  latticed  house, 
Nor  yet  of  princelings  bare  upon  her  brows 
Love's  salutation  ;  but  from  such  as  they 
Turned,  as  a  shy  brook  wheels  from  jutting  boughs, 
And  in  a  sidelong  glimmer  sobs  away 

Her  sealed  sense  beheld  no  man,  nor  heard, 
Nor  lent  its  troth  to  any  mortal  bond, 
But  lived  heart-full  of  vital  light  beyond, 
And  with  miraculous  tides  of  being  stirred, 
Lingering  tho'  eager,  till  the  forest  fond 
Winged  to  its  own  pure  peace  this  homing  bird. 

For,  sad  with  rains  of  unrevealed  desire, 
And  heavy  with  predestined  glory's  beam, 
She  to  the  water-girdled  wood's  extreme 
Stole  from  her  suitors'  pleas,  her  father's  ire, 


THE   WOOING  riNE.  53 

Far  from  their  brambly  ways  to  sit  and  dream, 
And  make  sweet  plaint,  in  daylight's  dying  fire  ; 

When,  one  with  lilt  of  her  own  veins,  there  rose 
Across  remote  and  jasmine-pillared  space, 
A  voice  of  so  persuasive,  piteous  grace 
That  all  her  globed  sorrow  did  unclose 
To  fragrant  helpfulness  in  that  still  place, 
And  sought,  in  tears,  the  breather  of  such  woes. 

And  peering,  of  the  level-shafted  sun 
Evasive,  listening  from  a  mossy  knoll, 
To  kindling  quiet  sank  her  gentle  soul, 
In  awe  at  some  high  venture  to  be  done, 
As  when  outpeals  from  Fame's  coercive  pole, 
Too  soon,  on  ears  too  weak,  her  clarion. 

Burst  in  the  golden  air  a  wide  and  deep 
Torrent  of  harmony,  that  with  clang  and  shock 
Might  wreck  a  pinnace  on  an  Afric  rock, 
And  on  the  ruin  foamily  o'erheap 
Bright  reparation  :  't  was  a  strength  to  mock 
Itself  with  swoons,  and  idle  sobs,  and  sleep. 

A  splendor- hoary  pine,  of  kingliest  cheer, 
Enrooted  'neath  her  thrilling  footfall,  stood  ; 


54  LEGENDS. 

Suffused  with  youth  and  gracious  hardihood, 
Sown  of  the  wind  from  heaven's  memorial  sphere, 
With  the  red  might  of  centuries  in  his  blood, 
Unscarred  and  straight  against  the  battling  year, 

From  whose  great  heart  those  noble  accents  flowed, 
And  from  the  melancholy  arms  outspread 
Whereon  the  aching  winter  long  had  snowed  : 
'  Come,  sister  !  spouse  !  whom  Love  hath  strangely  led 
From  bondage,  come  ! '    And  her  most  blessed  head 
She  laid  upon  his  breast  as  her  abode. 

O  wonderful  to  hearing,  touch,  and  gaze  ! 
This  was  of  soul's  unrest  and  spirit's  scar 
Solving  and  healing ;  this  the  late  full  star 
Superillumining  the  hither  ways, 
And  the  old  blind  allegiance  set  ajar 
Like  a  dark  door,  against  its  flooded  rays. 

All  intertangled  fell  their  dusky  hair 

In  tender  twilight's  bowery  recess  ; 

And  that  fair  bride  of  her  heart-heaviness 

Was  disenthralled  in  love's  Lethean  air, 

Where  orchids  hung  upon  the  wind's  caress, 

And  the  first  tawny  lily  made  her  lair. 


THE   WOOING  PINE.  55 

Dear  minions  served  them  in  the  covert  green : 
The  squirrel  coy,  the  beetle  in  his  mail, 
The  moth,  the  bee,  the  throbbing  nightingale, 
And  the  gaunt  wolf,  their  vassal ;  to  them  e'en 
The  widowed  serpent,  on  her  vengeful  trail, 
Upcast  an  iridescent  eye  serene. 

The  last  tired  envoy  from  the  realm  bereaved 
Blew  at  the  drawbridge,  riding  castlewards  ; 
The  fisher-folk  along  the  beachen  shards 
Pierced,  calling,  the  cool  thickets  silvern  leaved  ; 
And  grandams  meagre,  and  road-roaming  bards 
Shared  her  sad  theme,  for  whom  men  vainly  grieved. 

But  lad  and  lass,  with  parted  mouth  a-bloom, 
Who  strayed  thereby  in  April's  misty  prime, 
A  vision  freshening  to  the  after-time 
Caught  thro'  the  rifts  of  uninvaded  gloom,  — 
A  maiden,  honey-lipped  as  Tuscan  rhyme, 
And  her  young  hunter,  with  his  sombre  plume. 

For  dynasties  tho'  passing-bells  be  tolled, 

Theirs  is  the  midmost  ecstasy  of  June, 

Her  music,  her  imperishable  moon ; 

While  Time,  that  elsewhere  is  so  rough  and  cold, 

Like  a  soft  child,  flower-plucking  all  forenoon, 

Gathers  the  ages  from  this  garden  old. 


56  LEGENDS. 

Calm  housemates  with  them  in  their  forest  lone 
Do  Freedom,  Innocence  and  Joy,  abide : 
And  aye  as  one  who  into  Heaven  hath  died 
Thro'  mortal  aisleways  of  melodious  moan. 
The  boatman  sees,  at  dusk,  from  Arno's  tide, 
The  Everlasting  Lover  with  his  own  ! 


THE   SERPENT'S   CROWN. 

IAID  he: 

'  O   diligent   rover !    browned   under   many    a 

heaven, 
Treasure  and  trophy  you  carry,  spoils  from  the  east  and 

the  west ; 
Yet  I  fear  that  you  passed  it  over,  the  chief  clime  out  of 

the  seven, 

My  wonder-land  and  my  island,  where  the  chance  of  a 
knight  is  best. 

'  There  from  the  black  mid-forest,  past  hemlock  guards 

in  waiting 
(Heard  you  not  of  the  legend?),  when  the  wide  sun 

winks  at  noon, 

On  the  rock-ways  sharpest,  hoarest,  warily  undulating, 
A  star-dappled  serpent  hurries,  with  the  odorous  grace 

of  June. 

'  Over  her  human  forehead,  reared  among  glens  abysmal, 
Glitters  a  crown  gold-gossamer ;  only  a  moment's  arc 


58  LEGENDS. 

Crosses  the  creature  torrid,  flexile,  palpitant,  prismal, 
Then  breaks  on  the  earth,  a  terror  spiralling  into  the 
dark. 


'  Every  to-day  and  to-morrow,  as  the  foreign  old  belfries 

tremble 
With  the  hammer-hard  heels  of  noon,  just  that  instant, 

nor  more  nor  less, 
In  the  blue  witch-reptile's  furrow  her  shape  stands  to 

dissemble, 
And  the  barbed  tongue  tempts  and  entices,  and  the 

fire-eyes  acquiesce. 

'  Once  she  was  a  wily  woman,  whose  glory  the  gods  have 

finished, 
Whose  handicraft  still  is  ruin,  whose  glee  is  to  snare 

and  kill, 
Defier  of  spearman  and  bowman,  her  empery  undimin- 

ished ; 
But  whoso  can  overcome  her,  shall  bend  the  world  to 

his  will  ! 

'Therefore   the    knights  importune   to   spur   thro'  the 

jungles  fruity, 
Many  a  lad  and  a  hunter  and  a  dreamer  there  ventureth  ; 


THE  SERPENT'S  CROWN.  59 

For  the  king  tends  power  and  fortune  to  the  slayer  of 

that  demon-beauty, 
And  awards  him  her  crown  thrice-charmed  whose  captor 

can  outwit  Death, 

'  Aye,  ride  above  storm  and  censure,  and  lord  it  o'er  time 
and  distance, 

In  the  maddening-sweet  assurance  of  bliss  like  a  rose- 
rain  shed, 

All  for  a  wood-path  venture,  a  gallant  alert'  resistance, 

And  a  stroke  of  the  steel  in  circle  about  that  exquisite 
head! 

'  A  task  for  your  young  drilled  muscle  ! ' 

But  the  other,  in  soft  derision 
Answered  him  : 

'  Oh,  I  had  once  some  wild  schemes  under  my  hat : 
Some  thrill  for  this  same  snake-tussle,  and  the  heirdom 

of  life  Elysian, 

Long  peace,  long  loving,  long  praises  :  but  I  Ve  kindled 
and  cooled  on  that ! 

'  Ten  years  have  I  been  a  ranger,  I  have  hewn  all  dread 

to  the  centre  ; 
I  have  learned  to  sift  out  values ;  my  soul  is  at  rest  and 

free. 


60  LEGENDS, 

If  that  be  your  boon  for  danger,  on  a  dull  safe  youth  to 

enter, 
Tho'  some  may  covet  the  guerdon,  'tis  a  poor  enough 

thing  to  me. 

1 1  choose,  might  I  come  and  return  so,  to  a  cause,  a 

friend  and  a  foeman 
Staunch,  to  endure  for  the  rest  but  as  a  moth,  or  a 

marigold  ! 
Let  the  philosophers  yearn  so,  the  king  bribe  squire  and 

yeoman  ! 
Not  for  my  lease  immortal  the  serpent  shall  be  cajoled. 

'  To  strike  her  down  avenges  her  slain  ;  but  is  evil  ended  ? 
The  fashion  dies ;  the  function  abides,  and  has  fresher 

scope. 
What  is  to  be  won  ?     He  cringes  who  would  seize,  were 

the  choice  extended, 
For  the  risk  elsewhere  of  living,  here  only  survival's 

hope  ! 

'  I  would  keep  my  lot  mine  purely,  cast  in  with  men's 

forever ; 
Their   transient   tempest   sooner   than    these    Sybaritic 

calms ; 


THE  SERPENTS  CROWN.  61 

Tho'  against  the  cobra,  surely,  I  would  pit  my  soul's 

endeavor, 
Her  crown  and  its  lonely  meaning  I  would  scorn  to  take 

in  alms. 

'  Rather  than  ease  unshaken,  durance  that  sloth  unhal- 
lows, 

Once  and  for  all,  in  honor,  an  end :  what 's  the  forfeit 
crown 

If  the  chance  of  my  short  term  taken  run  plump  on  the 
axe  or  the  gallows, 

So  one  brother's  fetter  be  loosened,  or  one  tyrant  tram 
pled  down  ? 

'  Why,  see  !  this  diadem's  pleasure  a  Turk  might  sigh  to 

inherit,  — 

Heart-beats  thrumming  ;  a  torpid  and  solitary  cheer  ; 
No  call  to  arms,  no  measure  of  progress  !  Well,  let  him 

wear  it 
Unquestioned  ...  I  spurned  the  bauble  when  I  killed 

your  snake  last  year.' 


MOUSTACHE. 

FRIENDLESS  pup  that  heard  the  fife 

Sprang  to  the  column  thro'  the  clearing, 
And  on  to  Switzerland  and  strife 
Went  grenadiering. 


Much  he  endured,  and  much  he  dared 
The  long  hot  doomsday  of  the  nations  : 
He  wore  a  trooper's  scars  ;  he  shared 
.     A  trooper's  rations  ; 

Warned  pickets,  seized  the  Austrian  spies, 
Bore  the  despatches  ;  thro'  the  forces 
From  fallen  riders,  prompt  and  wise, 
Led  back  the  horses ; 

Served  round  the  tents  or  in  the  van, 
Quick-witted,  tireless  as  a  treadle  : 
'  This  private  wins,'  said  Marshal  Lannes, 
'  Ribbon  and  medal.' 


MOUSTACHE.  63 

('  Moustache,  a  brave  French  dog,'  it  lay 
Graven  on  silver,  like  a  scholar's ; 
'  Who  lost  a  leg  on  Jena  day, 
But  saved  the  colors  ! ') 


At  Saragossa  he  was  slain ; 
They  buried  him,  and  fired  a  volley : 
End  of  Moustache.     Nay,  that  were  strain 
Too  melancholy. 

His  immortality  was  won, 
His  most  of  rapture  came  to  bless  him, 
When,  plumed  and  proud,  Napoleon 
Stooped  to  caress  him. 

His  Emperor's  hand  upon  his  head  ! 
How,  since,  shall  lesser  honors  suit  him  ? 
Yet  ever,  in  that  army's  stead, 
Love  will  salute  him. 


And  since  not  every  cause  enrolls 
Such  little,  fond,  sagacious  henchmen, 
Write  this  dog's  moral  on  your  scrolls, 
Soldiers  and  Frenchmen  ! 


64  LEGENDS. 

As  law  is  law,  can  be  no  waste 
Of  faithfulness,  of  worth  and  beauty  ; 
Lord  of  all  time  the  slave  is  placed 
Who  doth  his  duty. 

No  virtue  fades  to  thin  romance 
But  Heaven  to  use  eternal  moulds  it : 
Mark  !  Some  firm  pillar  of  new  France, 
Moustache  upholds  it. 


RANIERI. 

the  lute  Ranieri  played, 
Once  beneath  the  jasmine  shade 
In  a  June-bright  bower  imprisoned, 
Many  a  Pisan  beauty  listened, 
Velvet-eyed,  with  head  propped  under 
Her  gold  hair's  uncoifed  wonder  ; 
Like  the  rich  sun-blooded  roses 
Whom  the  wind  o'ertakes  in  poses 
Of  some  marble-still  delight, 
On  the  dewy  verge  of  night. 

'  Merrily  and  loud  sang  he, 
With  the  fairest  at  his  knee, 
Sky-ringed  in  that  garden  nest ! 
Who,  save  sorcerers,  had  guessed 
Whither  sylph  and  minstrel  came 
From  the  awful  Archer's  aim  ? 
Or  that,  glossy-pined  below, 
Lay  the  city  in  her  woe, 
5 


66  LEGENDS. 

For  her  sins,  as  it  was  written, 
Desolate  and  fever-smitten? 

'  Apt  Ranieri  was,  and  young, 
Love's  persuasion  on  his  tongue ; 
And  his  high-erected  glance, 
Softened  into  dalliance, 
Laughed  along  its  haughty  level : 
Foremost  in  all  skill  and  revel, 
Steeled  against  the  laws  that  seemed 
Monkish  figments  idly  dreamed, 
Early  dipping  his  wild  wing 
In  the  pools  of  rioting, 
With  the  moaning  world  shut  out, 
With  the  damosels  about ; 
Crimson-girdled,  in  the  sun 
Regnant,  as  if  he  were  one 
For  whom  Death  himself  was  mute  ; 
So  he  sat,  and  twanged  his  lute.' 
(Placid,  in  her  novice  veil, 
Sister  Claudia  told  the  tale.) 

1  When,  across  the  air  of  June, 
Like  a  mist  half-risen  at  noon, 
Or  a  fragrance  barely  noted, 
A  Judaean  Vision  floated  ! 


RANIERL  6  7 

Who,  midway  of  music's  burst, 

Pleadingly,  as  if  athirst, 

Long  athirst,  and  long  un sated, 

Sighed  :  "  Ranieri !  "  sighed  and  waited. 


'  Ah,  the  Prodigal  that  heard 
Fell  to  ashes  at  the  word  ! 
But  with  broken  murmurings 
Putting  by  the  wreathed  strings,  — 
From  the  safe  and  craven  places, 
From  the  fond,  bewildered  faces, 
Trembling  with  the  rush  of  thought, 
With  contrition  overwrought, 
At  a  royal  gesture,  down 
Straight  to  the  dismantled  town  ; 
Girt  with  justice,  chaste  and  tender, 
To  all  risks  himself  to  render, 
Of  all  sorrows  rude  and  froward 
To  be  prop  and  cure  henceforward ; 
By  no  lapse  of  irksome  duty 
Swerving  from  the  Only  Beauty, 
By  no  olden  lure  enticed  ;  — 
Saint  Ranieri  followed  Christ  ! ' 
(Said  the  little  nun  :  '  Amen  : 
Christ  who  calleth,  now  as  then.') 


SAINT   CADOC'S  BELL. 

I. 

JAILOR  !  with  wonder  thou  hearest  me, 

Moored  where  the  roots  of  thine  anchors  be, 
Tolling  and  wailing,  bursting  and  failing,  afar  in  the  heart 
of  the  sea. 

A  bell  was  I  of  Pagan  lands 

Forged  and  welded  in  might  and  beauty, 

But  captured  by  Christian  chivalry, 

And  set  in  a  belfry  by  godly  hands, 

With  chrisms  and  benedictions  three, 

For  a  fourfold  consecrated  duty  : 
To  summon  to  pray,  to  peal  for  the  fray, 
To  measure  the  hours,  to  moan  for  the  dead ; 

To  moan  for  the  dead,  ah  me  !  ah  me  ! 

Where  the  wild  gold  parasites  suck  and  spread, 

Where  the  sea-flower  rears  her  dreamy  head ; 

In  the  grots  of  immortality 


SAINT  CADOC'S  BELL.  69 

The  cool  weird  singing  mermaids  dwell  in  ; 

In  the  still  city,  with  its  empurpled  air 

Shaken  upon  the  eye  from  bastions  fair 

Of  coral,  and  pearl,  and  unbought  jasper's  glisten, 

I  toll  and  wail,  I  burst  and  fail,  ah,  listen  ! 

I,  the  holy  bell,  the  gift  of  the  Lord  Llewellyn, 

Now  the  keel  of  a  Cornish  ship  looms  over  my  prison, 

Call  from  the  underworld  in  mine  old  despair. 


II. 


They  brought  me  in  my  virgin  fame 

To  the  carven  minster  wonder-high, 

Close  to  the  glorious  sun  and  sky, 

With  song,  and  jubilee,  and  acclaim  : 
The  fountains  brimming  with  wine  sprayed  out  on  the 

crowd ; 

In  the  chapel-porches  the  viols  and  harps  clanged  loud, 
And  the  slim  maids  danced  a  solemn  measure,  ever  and 

aye  the  same, 

Singing  :  '  Behold,  we  hang  our  bell  in 
The  freedom  of  spring,  in  the  golden  weather, 

The  gift  of  the  Lord  Llewellyn, 
Redeemed  from  heathenry  and  strange  shame, 
The  lion-strong  bell,  for  our  service  at  last  led  hither, 


70  LEGENDS. 

Flower- woven,  caressed,  and  in  Christ  made  willing  and 

tame.' 

But  ere  the  pleased  stir  of  the  people  had  died, 
Llewellyn,  fresh  home  from  the  wars,  with  his  soldierly 

stride 
Climbed,  bearded  and  splendid  in  mail,  and  his  only 

young  child 
Held  up  from  his  shoulder  in  sight  of  them  all ;  till 

they  cried 
Peal  on  peal  of  delight  when  the  rosy  babe  turned,  and 

her  lip 

Laid  sweetly  upon  me  in  benison  mild. 
Yea,  sailor  !  and  thou  that  hearest  my  voice  from  thy 

ship, 
Thou  knowest  my  sorrow's  beginning,  thou  knowest,  ah 

me  ! 
Whence  my  tolling  and  wailing,  my  breaking  and  failing, 

afar  in  the  heart  of  the  sea. 


III. 


I  served  the  Lord  ten  years  arid  a  day, 

In  Saint  Cadoc's  church  by  the  surging  bay ; 

And  housed  with  the  gathering  webs  and  must, 

'Mid  whirring  of  velvety  wings  outside, 

In  calm  and  in  wind,  brooding  over  the  tide, 


SAINT  CADOCS  BELL.  71 

And  the  bright  massed  roofs,  and  the  crags'  array, 
My  strong  life,  innocent  and  just, 
Fell  of  a  sudden  to  ashes  and  dust, 
And  on  my  neck  hotly  "the  demon  laid  the  bare  rod  of 
his  sway  ! 

How  it  befell,  I  know  not  yet, 

(Sailor,  with  wonder  thou  hearest  me), 

Save  that  a  passionate  sharp  regret, 

An  exile's  longing,  o'ermastered  not, 

Seared  thought  like  a  pestilential  spot, 

And  sent  my  day-dreams  traitorously 

Back  to  the  place  where  my  life  began, 

To  the  long  blue  mornings,  blown  and  wet, 

To  the  pyre  by  the  sacred  rivulet, 

And  the  chanting  Cappadocian. 

No  more  a  Christian  bell  was  I  ! 

For  all  became,  which  seemed  so  good, 

Vile  thraldom,  in  my  bitter  mood 

That  thrust  the  old  conformance  by. 

Sullen  and  harsh,  to  the  acolyte 

I  answered  of  a  Sabbath  night, 
And  sprang  on  the  organ's  withdrawing  peal 
To  shatter  its  pomp,  like  a  charge  of  steel. 

The  good  monks  puzzled  and  prayed,  I  trow  : 

But  against  their  Heaven  I  set  my  brow. 


72  LEGENDS. 


IV. 


To  me,  by  the  ancient,  triple-roped, 
Lone,  tortuous  stair,  whereby  I  made 
A  tingling  silence,  a  heavy  concentric  shade, 
The  twelve-years'  child  of  the  Lord  Llewellyn  groped  : 
With  May-wreaths  laden,  the  loving  strange  child  came  ! 
And  my  pulses  that  throbbed  at  sight  of  her,  ten  years 

gone, 

Chilled  and  recoiled  at  her  delicate  finger-touch,  guessing 
Along  my  brazen-wrought   margin,  the   laud  and   the 

blessing 
Traced,  thro'  the  vine,  thro'  the  tangle  of  star  and  of 

sun, 
By  her  dead  father's  name,  by  Llewellyn's  magnificent 

name. 
And  even  as  she  stood  in  the  dark,  the  doom  and  the 

horror  rushed  on  me  ; 

(I  had  weakened  my  soul,  and  they  won  me  !) 
I  felt  the  desire  at  my  vitals,  the  unbearable  joy  that  is 

pain  : 

With  one  mad  tigerish  spring  against  the  dim  rafter, 
I  smote  the  sweet  child  in  my  rage,  I  smote  her  with 

laughter, 
And  a  sound  like  the  rain 


SAINT  C A  DOC'S  BELL.  73 

Whirled  east  on  the  casement,  died  after : 

And  I  knew  that  the  life  in  her  brain 

I  had  quenched  at  the  stroke,  and  flung  even  my  darling 

of  yore 
Down  the  resonant,  tottering  stair,  down,  down  to  the 

centuried  door  ! 
Then  the  swift  hurricane, 
The   clamoring  army   thronged    up    from    below,    my 

allegiance  to  claim  ! 
Lean   goblins,  brown-flecked   like  a  toad,  the  gnomic 

horned  ghosts, 
Imps  flickering,  quarry- sprites  grim,  all  the  din  of  the 

dolorous  hosts, 
All  the  glory  and  glee  of  the  cursed  hissed  round  me 

and  round,  as  a  flame. 
And  they  loosened  my  hold  from  the  tower,  and  my 

hope  from  the  hem 
Of  the  garment  of  Him  who  could  save,  as  they  jeered  ! 

and  with  speed 
Crashed  down  past  the  rocks  and  the  wrecks ;  and  the 

horrible  deed 
Was  done.     I  was  theirs ;  and  I  gave  up  my  spirit  to 

them. 


74  LEGENDS. 


V. 


In  a  mossy  minaret 

Fathoms  under,  I  am  set. 

All  the  sea-shapes  undulating 

At  my  gates  forlorn  are  waiting, 

All  the  dreary  faint-eyed  people 

Watch  me  in  my  hollow  steeple, 

While  the  glass-clear  city  heaves 

Oft  beneath  its  earthy  eaves. 

So  in  sorrow,  sorrow,  sorrow 

Yestereven  and  to-morrow, 

Thro'  the  3eons,  in  a  cell 

Hangs  Saint  Cadoc's  loveless  bell, 

Orbed,  like  a  mortal's  tear, 

On  the  moony  atmosphere, 

Bearing,  the  refrain  of  time, 

Memory,  and  unrest,  and  crime. 

Thou  that  hast  the  world  sublime  ! 
I  that  was  free,  I  am  lost,  I  am  damned,  I  am  here  ! 
And  whenever  a  child  among  men  by  a  blow  is  dead, 
Docile  for  aye  from  the  deeps  must  I  lift  my  head, 

And  from  the  heathen  heart  of  me  that  breaks, 

The  unextinguishable  music  wakes, 

Naught  availing,  naught  deterred. 


SAINT  CADOCS  BELL.  75 

And  the  sailor  heareth  me, 
Even  as  thou,  alas  !  hast  heard, 
Fallen  in  awe  upon  thy  knee, 

Tolling   and   wailing,  bursting   and   failing,  afar  in  the 
ominous  sea. 


A  CHOUAN. 

ROM  the  school-porch  at  Vannes 

Weaponed,  the  children  ran  ; 
One  little  voice  began, 

Lark-like  ascended : 

1  Treason  is  on  the  wing, 
Black  vows,  and  menacing  : 
March,  boys  !  God  save  the  King  ! ' 
Allio  ended. 

Singing,  with  sunny  head, 
Battleward  straight  he  led, 
Stones  for  his  captain's  bed, 
Herbs  for  his  diet : 

He  and  his  legion  brave, 
Trouble  enough  they  gave  ! 
Ere  the  Blues'  bullets  drave 
Them  into  quiet. 


77 


Spared,  with  a  few  as  bold, 
Once  the  storm  over-rolled, 
Allio,  twelve  years  old, 

Crept  from  the  clamor ; 

Came,  when  the  days  were  brief, 
To  the  old  desk  in  grief, 
Thumbing  anew  the  leaf 

Of  the  old  grammar. 

Kings  out !  ...  rang  the  chime, 
Kings  in  !  ...  answered  Time. 
In  his  ignoring  clime, 

Silent,  he  studied ; 

Till,  ere  his  youth  was  done, 
For  him,  the  chosen  one, 
Shepherd  disclaimed  of  none, 
Aaron's  rod  budded. 


Long,  in  unbroken  round, 
Peace  on  his  paths  he  found ; 
Saw  the  glad  Breton  ground 
Husbanded,  quarried : 


7  8  LEGENDS. 

Blessed  it,  the  record  saith, 
All  the  years  he  had  breath, 
Till  the  dim  eightieth 

Snowed  on  his  forehead. 


President !  .  .  .  Emperor !  .  .  . 
President  !  ...  On  the  floor 
Spake  a  sharp  Senator 

Widening  his  ranges : 

'  From  Paris  I  impeach 
Vannes  for  disloyal  speech  ; 
Send  thither  troops  to  teach, 

How  the  world  changes  ! ' 

Down  on  the  peasants  then 
Rode  the  Republic's  men, 
Trampling  the  corn  again, 
Miring  the  flowers ; 

Hewed  thro'  the  rebels  nigh, 
Scoffed  at  the  women's  cry, 
Set  the  tricolor  high 

On  the  church  towers. 


A    CHOUAN.  79 

Pale  in  his  cot  that  day, 
Dying,  the  pastor  lay, 
Where  still  his  eye  could  stray 
Up  valleys  gleaming ; 


Watchers  were  at  his  side ; 
Prayer  unto  prayer  replied  : 
Hush  !  what  was  that  he  spied, 
Pinnacle-streaming  ? 

(Nothing  was  he  aware 
In  his  deaf  Breton  air,  — 
So  gray  traditions  there 

Throve  unforgotten,  — 

That,  by  a  final  chance, 
Kings  all  were  led  a  dance  ; 
Long  since,  in  fickle  France, 
Sceptres  were  rotten  !) 

Sprang  the  old  lion,  still 
Live  with  prodigious  will, 
To  his  stone  casement-sill ; 

Foolish  and  true  one  ! 


8o  LEGENDS. 

Snatched  up  the  blade  he  bore, 
Rough  with  its  rust  of  yore, 
Kissed  it,  a  saint  no  more  — 
Only  a  Chouan  ! 

Barred  from  the  charging  mass 
In  the  choked  market-pass, 
All  he  could  do,  alas  ! 

Now,  was  to  clang  it : 

Nay,  more  :  — '  God  save  the  King  ! 
With  a  last  clarion  ring, 
Shot  ere  he  ceased  to  sing, 
Allio  sang  it. 


LYRICS 


LYRICS. 


YOUTH. 

ET  us  hymn  thee  for  our  silent  brothers, 

Freely  as  the  wild  impellent  wind  blows, 
Briefly,  rudely,  in  the  smoky  pauses 
Of  a  battle,  in  the  stress  and  scourging 
Of  the  sail  apast  thy  heavenly  margin  ; 
Let  us  hymn  thee,  while  the  gallant  pulses 
In  high  heart  and  limbs  one  kingliest  instant, 
Boom  and  flash  thy  name  and  their  allegiance  ; 
'  Once,  and  for  one  only,'  let  us  hymn  thee, 
O  Delight,  O  Sunrise,  O  sole  Answer, 
Empery  unbought,  supreme  Adventure, 
Youth,  ah,  Youth  !  all  men's  desire  and  sorrow. 

Let  us  hymn  thee,  we,  the  passing,  dying, 
Out  of  bondage  by  a  vision  lifted, 


84  L  YAICS. 

Since  by  chance  sublime,  in  secret  places* 
Goddess  !  we,  Aktaion-like,  have  seen  thee. 
Tho'  our  voice  as  a  spent  eagle's  voice  is, 
Let  us  hymn  thee,  while  the  doom  is  forging ; 
Holding,  losing,  thro'  one  first  last  moment, 
One  mad  moment  worth  dull  life  forever, 
Triumphing  in  anguish,  let  us  hymn  thee  ! 
Thine,  beholden  Beauty,  thine  this  heart-break, 
Thine,  O  Hope  forsworn  !  this  salutation, 
Youth,  ah,  Youth  !  all  men's  desire  and  sorrow. 


THE   LAST   FAUN. 

]OW  hath  he  stumbled  hither,  in  search  of  love  and 

praise, 

A  tardy  comer  and  goer  across  the  world's  highways, 
A  kind  shape  from  the  thicket,  a  wanderer  all  his  days  ? 

He  finds  a  rocky  seat  where  the  moiling  town  recedes  : 
The  altered  shepherds  flout  him ;  but  O  he  little  heeds  ! 
Incredulous  he  swings  there,  and  drones  upon  his  reeds. 

He  stamps  his  cloven  heel,  and  he  laughs  adown  the  wind, 
With  eye  that  wanes  and  waxes  at  doings  of  mankind. 
Slow,  slow  creeps  the  invader  upon  that  happy  mind. 

The  apple  breasts  his  fellow ;  doves  wheel  by  two  and 

three, 

And  ever  dance  in  circle  the  shallops  on  the  sea ; 
The  goats  and  deer  are  many ;  but  playmate  none  hath  he, 


86  LYRICS. 

Nor  nymph  nor  child  to  follow  upon  his  signals  rude ; 
He  smiles  :  there  is  no  frolic ;   he  snarls  :    there  is  no 

feud. 
He  feels  his  poor  heart  sinking  at  every  interlude. 

His  shaggy  ear  and  freakish  resents  the  wail  and  din ; 
Earth's  rumors  chill  his  veins  with  their  ghostly  gliding  in  ; 
He  aches  to  slip  these  tethers,  and  be  where  he  hath 
been. 

Elsewhere  is'waking  glory,  and  here   the  dream,  the 

thrall. 
Hush  !  hear  the  sunless  waters,  the  wrestling  leaves  that 

call! 
He  lops  the  grass,  and  whistles ;  and  while  he  cheats 

them  all, 

Obeys,  is  gone,  gone  wholly.     From  alien  air  too  cold, 
The  Faun,  with  garlands  flying,  with  sylvan  ditties  trolled, 
Being  homesick,  being  patient,  regains  his  greenwood  old. 


KNIGHTS   OF  WEATHER. 

HEN  down  the  filmy  lanes 

The  too  wise  sun  goes  grieving, 
A  wake  of  splendor  leaving 
Upbillowed  from  the  ground  ; 
When  at  the  window-panes 
The  hooded  chestnuts  rattle, 
And  there  is  clash  of  battle 
New  England's  oaks  around  : 
Oh,  then  we  knights  of  weather, 
We  birds  of  sober  feather, 
Fill  up  the  woods  with  revel 
That  summer's  pomp  is  slain  ; 
And  make  a  mighty  shouting 
For  King  October's  outing, 
The  Saracen  October 
Astride  the  hurricane  ! 

When  dappled  butterflies 
Have  crept  away  to  cover, 


88  LYRICS. 


And  one  persistent  plover 
Is  coaxing  from  the  fen ; 
When  apples  show  the  skies 
Their  bubbly  lush  vermilion, 
And  from  a  rent  pavilion 
Laugh  down  on  maids  and  men  : 
Oh,  then  we  knights  of  weather, 
We  birds  of  sober  feather, 
Fill  up  the  woods  with  revel 
That  summer's  pomp  is  slain  ; 
And  make  a  mighty  shouting 
For  King  October's  outing, 
The  Saracen  October 
Astride  the  hurricane  ! 

When  pricks  the  winy  air ; 
When  o'er  the  meadows  clamber 
Cloud-masonries  of  amber ; 
When  brooks  are  silver-clear  ; 
When  conquering  colors  dare 
The  hills  and  cliffy  places, 
To  hold,  with  braggart  graces, 
High  wassail  of  the  year  : 
Oh,  then  we  knights  of  weather, 
We  birds  of  sober  feather, 
Fill  up  the  woods  with  revel 


KNIGHTS  OF  WEATHER.  89 

That  summer's  pomp  is  slain ; 
And  make  a  mighty  shouting 
For  King  October's  outing, 
The  Saracen  October 
Astride  the  hurricane  ! 


DAYBREAK. 

[HE  young  sun  rides  the  mists  anew ;  his  cohorts 

follow  from  the  sea. 
Let  Aztec  children  shout  and  sue,  the  Persian  lend  a 

thankful  knee  : 

Those  glad  auroral  eyes  shall  beam  not  anywhere  hence 
forth  on  me. 

Up  with  the  banners  on  the  height,  set  every  matin-bell 

astir  ! 
The  tree-top  choirs  carouse  in  light ;    the  dew  's  on 

phlox  and  lavender : 
Ah,  mockery  !  for,  worlds  away,  the  heart  of  morning 

beats  with  her. 


ON   SOME   OLD   MUSIC. 

O  lie  beside  a  stream,  upon  the  sod 

At  ease,  while  weary  shepherds  homeward  plod, 
And  feel  benignly  by,  as  daylight  mellows, 
The  mountains  in  their  weathering  period ; 

Aye  so,  with  silence  shod 

To  lie  in  depth  of  grass  with  man's  meek  fellows, 
The  cattle  large  and  calm,  aware  of  God, 

And,  keen  as  if  to  flesh  the  spirit  sprang, 
To  hear,  —  O  but  to  hear  that  silvern  clang 
Of  young  hale  melody !  and  hither  rally 
The  thrill,  the  aspiration,  and  the  pang 

Again,  as  once  it  rang 

Sovereign  and  clear  thro'  all  the  Saco  valley, 
Whose  slaves  were  we  that  heard,  and  he  that  sang  ! 

Happy  the  spot,  the  hour,  the  spanning  strain 
Precious  and  far,  the  rainbow  of  the  rain, 


92  LYRICS. 

'iip 

The  seal  of  patience,  dark  endeavor's  summing, 
The  heaven-bright  close  of  Pergolese's  pain  ! 

Sighs  bid  it  back  in  vain, 
Nor  win  its  peer,  till  craftsmen  aftercoming 
Lost  art,  lost  heart,  from  shipwrecked  years  regain. 


How,  like  an  angel,  it  effaced  the  crime, 
The  moil  and  heat  of  our  tempestuous  time, 
And  brought  from  dewier  air,  to  us  who  waited, 
The  breath  of  peace,  the  healing  breath  sublime  ! 

As  falls,  at  midnight's  chime 
To  an  old  pilgrim,  plodding  on  belated, 
The  thought  of  Love's  remote  sunshining  prime. 

There  flits  upon  the  wind's  wing,  as  we  gaze, 
Our  northern  springtime,  virgin-green  three  days ; 
The  racy  water  shallowing,  the  glory 
Of  jonquils  strewn,  the  wafted  apple-sprays  : 

O  let  it  be  thy  praise, 
Child-song  too  lovely  and  too  transitory  ! 
Thou  art  as  they ;  thy  feet  have  gone  their  ways. 


O  beauty  unassailable  !     O  bride 

Of  memory  !  while  yet  thou  didst  abide 


ON  SOME   OLD  MUSIC.  93 

The  yester  joy  was  ours,  the  joy  to-morrow, 
Life's  brimming  whole  :  and  since  to  earth  denied, 

Soft  ebbed  thy  dreamy  tide, 
To  us  the  first,  the  full,  the  only  sorrow, 
Wild  as  when  Abel  out  of  Eden  died. 


LATE    PEACE. 

S  a  pool  beset  with  lilies 

In  the  May-green  copses  hid, 
Far  from  wayfarers  and  wrongers, 
Clangors,  rumors,  disillusions, 
Neighbored  by  the  wild-grape  only, 
By  the  hemlock's  dreamy  host, 
By  the  Rhodian  nightingale, 
O  remote,  remote,  O  lonely  !  — 
So  thy  life  is. 

Whence  and  wherefore  is  it 
Never  peace  may  be  co-dweller 
With  my  lakelet 
Too  beloved  and  too  sheltered, 
That,  secure  from  broil  of  cities, 
From  a  secret  regnant  spring 
To  its  own  wild  depth  awaking, 
Makes  but  moaning  and  resistance, 


LATE  PEACE.  95 

Undiminishable  protest ; 

Mimicking  with  pain  and  fury 

Of  humanity  the  struggle  ; 

Fretting,  foaming,  pacing  ever 

Round  and  round  its  fragrant  cloister, 

All  within  itself  perplexed, 

Every  heart-vein  bruised  but  eager ; 

And  its  clear  soul,  doubt-o'erladen, 

'Neath  the  stirred  and  floating  foulness, 

Long  abased,  long  dumb,  ah  !  long?  — 

So  thy  life  is. 

Comes  the  respite,  comes  the  guerdon  ; 

The  perfect  truce  arrives 

In  the  honey- dropping  twilight, 

The  southwestering  pallid  sunshine, 

The  magian  clouds  a-fire, 

The  mooring  galleon-wind  : 

At  whose  spell, 

Potent  daily, 

The  lulled  water  is  beguiled 

Bac£  to  saneness,  back  to  sweetness. 

All  its  arrowy  hissing  atoms 

Gather  from  the  chase  forsaken  ; 

The  sphered  galaxy  of  bubbles, 

Fragments,  motes,  the  lees  unrestful, 


96  L  YRICS. 

Disunite,  as  to  heard  music, 

Like  weird  dancers,  from  their  wreathings 

Each  to  its  cool  grotto  swaying ; 

Till  there  follows,  on  their  fervor, 

Depth,  and  crystal  clarity. 

So  thy  life  is,  so  thy  life  ! 

Darkling  to  beatitude,    _  • 

Shaken  in  the  saving  change. 

And  the  spirit  made  wise,  not  weary 

By  the  throes  that  youth  endureth, 

When  old  age  falls,  evening-placid, 

On  the  mystery  unriddled, 

Yet  in  empire,  yet  in  honor, 

In  submission  not  ignoble, 

Glistens  to  a  central  quiet, 

Leal  to  the  most  lovely  moon. 


TO   A  YOUNG   POET. 

IGH  not  to  be  remembered,  dear, 

Nor  for  Time's  fickle  graces  strive  ; 
Vex  not  thy  spirit's  songful  cheer 
With  the  sick  ardor  to  survive. 

But  be  content,  thou  quick  bright  thing 
A  while  than  lasting  stars  more  fair  : 
A  lone  high- flashing  skylark's  wing 
Across  obliterating  air. 

O  rich  in  immortality  ! 
Not  thee  Fame's  graven  stones  benight ; 
But  ever,  to  some  world-worn  eye, 
All  Heaven  is  bluer  for  thy  flight. 


DE   MORTUIS. 

HE  skilfullest  of  mankind  ! 
So  praise  him,  reckoning 
By  shot  in  the  sea-gull's  wing, 
By  doubts  in  boyhood's  mind. 


DOWN   STREAM. 

|CARRED  hemlock  .roots, 

Oaks  in  mail,  and  willow- shoots 
Spring's  first-knighted ; 
Clinging  aspens  grouped  between, 
Slender,  misty-green, 
Faintly  affrighted : 


Far  hills  behind, 

Sombre  growth,  with  sunlight  lined, 

On  their  edges ; 

Banks  hemmed  in  with  maiden-hair, 
And  the  straight  and  fair 

Phalanx  of  sedges : 


100  LYRICS. 


Wee  wings  and  eyes, 

Wild  blue  gemmy  dragon-flies, 

Fearless  rangers ; 
Drowsy  turtles  in  a  tribe 
Diving,  with  a  gibe 

Muttered  at  strangers ; 

Wren,  bobolink, 

Robin,  at  the  grassy  brink  ; 

Great  frogs  jesting ; 
And  the  beetle,  for  no  grief 
Half-across  his  leaf 

Sighing  and  resting ; 

In  the  keel's  way, 
Unwithdrawing  bream  at  play, 

Till  from  branches 
Chestnut-blossoms,  loosed  aloft, 
Graze  them  with  their  soft 

Full  avalanches  ! 


This  is  very  odd  ! 
Boldly  sings  the  river-god  : 
'  Pilgrim  rowing  ! 


DOWN  STREAM.  IOI 

From  the  Hyperborean  air 
Wherefore,  and  O  where 
Should  man  be  going  ? ' 


Slave  to  a  dream, 

Me  no  urgings  and  no  theme 

Can  embolden ; 

Now  no  more  the  oars  swing  back, 
Drip,  dip,  till  black 

Waters  froth  golden. 


Musketaquid  ! 

I  have  loved  thee,  all  unbid, 

Earliest,  longest ; 

Thou  hast  taught  me  thine  own  thrift 
Here  I  sit,  and  drift 

Where  the  wind 's  strongest. 


If,  furthermore, 

There  be  any  pact  ashore, 

I  forget  it ! 
If,  upon  a  busy  day 
Beauty  make  delay, 

Once  over,  let  it ! 


102  LYRICS. 


Only,  —  despite 

Thee,  who  wouldst  unnerve  me  quite 

Like  a  craven,  — 
Best  the  current  be  not  so, 
Heart  and  I  must  row 

Into  our  haven  ! 


THE   INDIAN   PIPE. 

(TO    R.    L.    8.) 

[OUR  bays  shall  all  men  bring, 

And  flowers  the  children  strew  you. 
Once,  as  I  stood  in  a  thick  west  wood, 
I  took  from  a  fissure  a  precious  thing, 
The  homage  whereof  be  to  you  ! 

A  thing  pearl-pale,  yet  stung 

With  fire,  as  the  morning's  beam  is ; 
Hid  underground  thro'  a  solar  round, 

Hardy  and  fragile,  antique  and  young, 
More  exquisite  than  a  dream  is. 

No  rose  had  so  bright  birth ; 

No  gem  of  romance  surpassed  it, 
By  a  minstrel-knight,  for  his  maid's  delight, 

Borne  from  the  moon-burnt  marge  of  the  earth, 

Where  Paynim  breakers  cast  it. 


104  LYRICS. 

Rude-named,  memorial,  quaint, 

The  dews  and  the  darkness  mould  it : 
Scarce  twice  in  an  age  is  our  heritage 
This  glory  and  mystery  without  taint. 
Dear  Stevenson,  do  you  hold  it 

A  text  of  grace,  ah  !  much 

Beyond  what  the  praising  throng  says 
Only  your  art  is  its  peer  at  heart, 
Only  your  touch  is  a  wonder  such, 

My  wild  little  loving  song  says  ! 


BROOK   FARM. 

OWN  the  long  road  bent  and  brown, 

Youth,  that  dearly  loves  a  vision, 
Ventures  to  the  gates  Elysian, 
As  a  palmer  from  the  town, 

Coming  not  so  late,  so  far, 
Rocks  and  birches  !  for  your  story, 
Nor  to  prate  of  vanished  glory 
Where  of  old  was  quenched  a  star; 

\Vhere,  of  old,  in  lapse  of  toil, 
Time,  that  has  for  weeds  a  dower, 
Bade  the  supersensual  flower 
Starve  in  our  New  England  soil. 

But  to  Youth,  whose  radiant  eyes 
Shatter  mists  of  grief  and  daunting, 
Lost  glad  voices  still  are  chanting 
'Neath  those  unremaining  skies  ; 


106  LYRICS. 


Still  the  dreams  of  fellowship 
Beat  their  wings  of  aspiration  ; 
And  a  smile  of  soft  elation 
Trembles  from  his  haughty  lip, 

If  another  dare  deride 

Hopes  heroic  snapped  and  parted, 

Disillusion  so  high-hearted, 

All  success  is  mean  beside  ! 


MY  TIMES   ARE   IN   THY   HANDS.' 

Y  times  are  in  Thy  hands  ! ' 
It  rumbles  from  the  sea ; 
It  jingles  ever,  inland  far, 
From  the  reddening  rowan-tree. 

Let  me  not  sit  inert, 
Let  me  not  be  afraid  ! 
Teach  me  to  dare  and  to  resist 
Like  the  first  mortal  made, 

To  whom  of  fate's  dread  strength 
No  sickening  rumors  ran  ; 
Who  with  whatever  grim  event 
Grappled,  as  man  with  man. 

Seal  to  my  utmost  age 

What  now  my  youth  hath  known : 

'  My  times  are  in  Thy  hands/  O  most  ! 

When  wholly  in  my  own. 


GARDEN   CHIDINGS. 

HE  spring  being  at  her  blessed  carpentry, 

This  morning  makes  a  stem,  this  noon  a  leaf, 
And  jewels  her  sparse  greenery  with  a  bud  ; 
Fostress  of  happy  growth  is  she.     But  thou, 
O  too  disdainful  spirit,  or  too  shy  ! 
Passive  dost  thou  inhabit,  like  a  mole, 
The  porch  elect  of  darkness  ;  for  thy  trade 
Is  underground,  a  barren  industry, 
Shivering  true  ardor  on  the  nether  air, 
Shaping  the  thousandth  tendril,  and  all  year 
Webbing  the  silver  nothings  to  and  fro. 
What  wonder  if  the  gardener  think  thee  dead, 
When  every  punctual  neighbor-root  now  goes 
Adventurously  skyward  for  a  flower? 
Up,  laggard  !  climb  thine  inch ;  thyself  fulfil ; 
Thou  only  hast  no  sign,  no  pageantry, 
Save  these  fine  gropings  :  soon  from  thy  small  plot 
The  seasonable  sunshine  steals  away. 


FREDERIC   OZANAM. 

NTO  the  constant  heart  whom  saints  befriend 
Afar  in  peace,  what  were  our  gaudy  praise  ? 
His  course  is  ended,  and  his  faith  is  kept. 
Honor  in  silence  to  that  memory  !  sweet 
Equally  in  the  forum  of  the  schools, 
And  in  the  sufferer's  hovel.     His,  threefold, 
The  lowliness  of  Isai's  chosen  son, 
And  zeal  that  fired  the  warring  Macchabee, 
About  him  like  a  wedding-garment,  worn 
The  day  of  his  acceptance  ;  and  we  know 
That  for  the  sake  of  some  such  soul  as  this,  — 
So  brave,  so  clean,  compassionate  and  just, 
Alert  in  its  most  meek  security,  — 
Love  beareth  yet  with  all  that  stains  the  world. 


BANKRUPT. 

AST  the  cold  gates,  a  wraith  without  a  name, 
Sullen  and  withered,  like  a  thing  half-tame 
Still  for  its  jungle  moaning,  came  by  night, 
Before  the  Judgment's  awful  Angel  came. 


'  Answer,  Immortal !  at  my  high  decree 
Glory  or  shame  shall  flood  thee  as  the  sea : 
What  of  the  power,  the  skill,  the  graciousness, 
The  star-strong  soul  the  Lord  hath  lent  to  thee  ? ' 


But  the  lone  spectre  raised  a  mournful  hand  : 
'  Call  me  not  that !     Release  me  from  this  land  ! 
What  words  are  Heaven  and  Hell  ?     They  fall  on  me 
As  on  a  sphere  the  fooled  and  slipping  sand. 


BANKRUPT.  1 1 1 

'  Discerning,  thou  the  good  mayst  yet  belie, 
By  some  last  test,  the  sinner  sanctify. 
My  guilt  is  neutral-safe,  like  innocence  : 
No  boon  nor  bane  of  deathless  days  gain  I, 

'  Whose  life  is  hollow  shell  and  broken  bowl, 
Of  all  which  was  its  treasury,  the  whole 
Utterly,  vilely  squandered.    •  O  most  Just ! 
Put  down  thy  scales  :  for  I  have  spent  my  soul.' 


A   REASON    FOR   SILENCE. 

OU  sang,  you  sang  I  you  mountain  brook 

Scarce  by  your  tangly  banks  held  in, 
As  running  from  a  rocky  nook, 

You  leaped  the  world,  the  sea  to  win, 
Sun-bright  past  many  a  foamy  crook, 
And  headlong  as  a  javelin. 

Now  men  do  check  and  still  your  course 

To  serve  a  village  enterprise, 
And  wheelward  drive  your  sullen  force. 

What  wonder,  slave  !  that  in  no  wise 
Breaks  from  you,  pooled  'mid  reeds  and  gorse, 

The  voice  you  had  in  Paradise  ? 


TEMPTATION. 

COME  where  the  wry  road  leads 

Thro'  the  pines  and  the  alder  scents, 
Sated  of  books,  with  a  start, 
Sharp  on  the  gang  to-day  : 
Scarce  see  the  Romany  steeds, 
Scarce  hear  the  flap  of  the  tents, 
When  hillo  !  my  heart,  my  heart 
Is  out  of  its  leash,  and  away. 


Gypsies,  gypsies,  the  whole 
Tatterdemalion  crew  ! 
Brown  and  sly  and  severe 
With  curious  trades  in  hand. 
A  string  snaps  in  my  soul, 
The  one  high  answer  due 
If  an  exile  chance  to  hear 
The  songs  of  his  fatherland. 
8 


H4  LYRICS. 


...  To  be  abroad  with  the  rain, 
And  at  home  with  the  forest  hush, 
With  the  crag,  and  the  flower-urn, 
And  the  wan  sleek  mist  upcurled  ; 
To  break  the  lens  and  the  plane, 
To  burn  the  pen  and  the  brush, 
And,  clean  and  alive,  return 
Into  the  old  wild  world  !  .  .  . 

How  is  it  ?     O  wind  that  bears 

The  arrow  from  its  mark, 

The  sea-bird  from  the  sea, 

The  moth  from  his  midnight  lamp, 

Fate's  self,  thou  mocker  of  prayers  ! 

Whirl  up  from  the  mighty  dark, 

And  even  so,  even  me 

Blow  far  from  the  gypsy  camp  ! 


FOR   A   CHILD. 

¥ 

Schumann's  'Erinnerung:  Novbr.  4,  1847.' 

|N  memory  of  dear  Mendelssohn,  the  loving  song 

I  made 

Fain  would  I  sing  for  you,  my  own,  but  that  I  am  afraid, 
Aye,  truly,  sore  afraid  : 

For  sweet  as  was  its  every  tone,  once  freed  to  mortal  ears, 
In  memory  of  dear  Mendelssohn,  the  ghostly  wand  of 

tears 

Would  yet  be  strong  to  break  my  song, 
Thro'  all  these  after-years  ! 


AGLAUS. 

HE  ash  hath  no  perfidious  mind ; 

The  open  fields  are  just  and  kind  ; 
Tho'  loves  betray,  I  hear  this  way 
The  feathery  step  of  the  faithful  wind. 

Thorn-apple,  bayberry  and  rose 
Around  me,  talismanic,  close  : 
The  frosty  flakes,  the  thunder-quakes, 
Are  bulwarks  twain  of  my  year's  repose. 

No  struggle,  no  delight,  no  moan, 
But  at  my  hearthstone  I  have  known  ! 
All  thoughts  that  pass,  as  in  a  glass 
The  gods  have  bared  to  me  for  mine  own. 

Wisdom,  the  sought  and  unpossessed, 
Hath  of  her  own  will  been  my  guest ; 
Not  smoking  feud,  but  quietude 
My  heart  hath  chosen,  at  her  behest. 


AGLAUS. 

1  This  is  of  men  the  happiest  man 
Who  hath  his  plot  Arcadian,' 
Apollo  cried,  my  gates  beside, 
'  Nor  ever  wanders  beyond  its  span.' 

Now,  like  my  sheep,  I  seek  the  fold  ; 

My  hair  is  shaken  in  the  cold  ; 

The  night  is  nigh ;  but  ere  I  die, 

Bear  witness,  brothers  !  that  young  and  old, 

My  name  I  wear  without  regret : 
The  Home-Keeper  am  I,  and  yet 
At  every  inn  my  feet  have  been, 
Above  all  travellers  I  am  set. 

Tho'  ocean  currents  by  me  purled, 
The  sails  of  my  desire  were  furled. 
What  pilgrims  crave,  three  acres  gave  ; 
And  I,  Aglaus,  have  seen  the  world  ! 


AN   AUDITOR. 

|HY  chide  me  that  mutely  I  listen,  ah,  jester? 

For  either  thou  knowest 
Too  much,  or  thou  knowest  not  aught  of  this  aching 

vexed  planet  down-whirling : 
Thou  knowest? — Thy  wit   is   but  fortitude;    would'st 

have  me  laugh  in  its  presence,? 

Thou  knowest  not?  —  Laugh  I  can  never,  for  innocence 
also  is  sacred. 


THE   WATER-TEXT. 

ATCHING  my  river  marching  overland, 

By  mighty  tides  transfigured  and  set  free,- 
My  river,  lapped  in  idle-hearted  mirth, 
Made  at  a  touch  a  glory  to  the  earth, 
And  leaving,  wheresoever  falls  his  hand, 
The  balm  and  benediction  of  the  sea,  — 

O  soon,  I  know,  the  hour  whereof  we  dreamed, 
The  saving  hour  miraculous,  arrives  ! 
When,  ere  to  darkness  winds  our  sordid  course, 
Some  glad,  new,  potent,  consecrating  force 
Shall  speed  us,  so  uplifted,  so  redeemed, 
Along  the  old  worn  channel  of  our  lives. 


CYCLAMEN. 

N  me,  thro'  joy's  eclipse,  and  inward  dark, 

First  fell  thy  beauty  like  a  star  new-lit ; 
To  thee  my  carol  now  !  albeit  no  lark 
Hath  for  thy  praise  a  throat  too  exquisite. 

O  would  that  song  might  fit 
These  harsh  north  slopes  for  thine  inhabiting, 
Or  shelter  lend  thy  loveliest  laggard  wing, 
Thou  undefiled  estray  of  earth's  o'ervanished  spring  ! 


Here  is  the  sunless  clime,  the  fallen  race ; 
Down  our  green  dingles  is  no  peer  of  thee  : 
Why  art  thou  such,  dear  outcast,  who  hadst  place 
With  shrine,  and  bower,  and  olive-silvery 

Peaked  islets  in  mid-sea? 
Thou  seekest  thine  Achaian  dews  in  vain, 
And  osiered  nooks  jocose,  at  summer's  wane, 
With  gossip  spirit-fine  of  chill  and  widening  rain. 


CYCLAMEN.  I  2 1 

Thou  wert  among  Thessalia's  hoofy  host, 
Their  radiant  shepherd  stroked  thee  with  a  sigh  ; 
When  falchioned  Perseus  spied  the  /Ethiop  coast, 
Unto  his  love's  sad  feet  thy  cheek  was  nigh ; 

And  all  thy  blood  beat  high 
With  woodland  Rhoecus  at  the  brink  of  bliss  ; 
Thy  leaf  the  Naiad  plucked  by  Thyamis, 
And  she,  the  straying  maid,  the  bride  beguiled  of  Dis. 


These,  these  are  gone.     The  air  is  wan  and  cold, 
The  choric  gladness  of  the  woods  is  fled  : 
But  thou,  aye  dove-like,  rapt  in  memories  old, 
Inclinest  to  the  ground  thy  fragile  head, 

In  ardor  and  in  dread. 
Searcher  of  yesternight !  how  wilt  thou  find 
In  any  dolven  aisle  or  cavern  blind, 
In  any  ocean-hall,  the  glory  left  behind? 


June's  butterfly,  poised  o'er  his  budded  sweet, 
Is  scarce  so  quiet-winged,  betimes,  as  thou. 
Fail  twilight's  thrill,  and  noonday's  wavy  heat 
To  kiss  the  fever  from  thy  downcast  brow. 

Ah,  cease  that  vigil  now  ! 
No  west  nor  east  thine  unhoused  vision  keeps, 


122  LYRICS. 


Nor  yet  in  heaven's  pale  purpureal  deeps 
Of  worlds  unnavigate,  the  dream  of  childhood  sleeps. 


Flower  of  the  joyous  realm  !  thy  rivers  lave 
Their  once  proud  valleys  with  forgetful  moan ; 
Thy  kindred  nod  on  many  a  trodden  grave 
Among  marmorean  altars  overthrown ; 

For  thou  art  left  alone, 
Alone  and  dying,  duped  for  love's  extreme  : 
Hope  not !  thy  Greece  is  over,  as  a  dream ; 
Stay  not !  but  follow  her  down  Time's  star-lucent  stream. 


Less  art  thou  of  the  earth  than  of  the  air, 
A  frail  outshaken  splendor  of  the  morn  ; 
Dimmest  desire,  the  softest  throb  of  prayer, 
Impels  thee  out  of  bondage  to  thy  bourn  : 

Ere  thou  art  half  forlorn, 
Farewell,  farewell !  for  from  thy  golden  stem 
Thou  slippest  like  a  wild  enchanter's  gem. 
Swift  are  the  garden-ghosts,  and  swiftest  thou  of  them  ! 


Yea,  speed  thy  freeborn  life  no  doubts  debar, 
O  blossom-breath  of  that  which  was  delight ! 


CYCLAMEN.  123 

In  cooling  whirl  and  undulation  far 
The  wind  shall  be  thy  bearer  all  the  night 
Thro'  ether  trembling-white  : 
And  I  that  clung  with  thee,  as  exiles  may 
Whose  too  slight  roots  in  every  zephyr  sway, 
Thy  little  soul  salute  along  her  homeward  way  ! 


A   PASSING  SONG. 

[HERE  thrums  the  bee  and  the  honeysuckle  hovers, 

Gather,  golden  lasses,  to  a  roundelay ; 
Dance,  dance,  yokefellows  and  lovers, 
Headlong  down  the  garden,  in  the  heart  of  May  ! 
Youth  is  slipping,  dripping,  pearl  on  pearl,  away. 

Dance  !  what  if  last  year  Winnie's  cheek  were  rounder? 
Dance  !  tho'  that  foot,  Hal,  were  nimbler  yesterday. 
Spread  the  full  sail !  for  soon  the  ship  must  founder ; 
Flaunt  the  red  rose  !  soon  the  canker-worm  has  sway  : 
Youth  is  slipping,  dripping,  pearl  on  pearl,  away. 

See  the  dial  shifting,  hear  the  night-birds  calling  ! 
Dance,  you  starry  striplings  !  round  the  fountain-spray  : 
With  its  mellow  music  out  of  sunshine  falling, 
With  its  precious  waters  trickling  into  clay, 
Youth  is  slipping,  dripping,  pearl  on  pearl,  away  ! 


IN   TIME. 

ER  little  dumb  child,  for  whom  hope  was  none 

In  any  mind,  she  watched  from  sun  to  sun, 
Until  three  years  her  mighty  faith  had  run ; 

Then,  in  an  agony  of  love,  laid  by 

The  bright  head  from  her  breast,  and  went  to  lie 

'Neath  cedarn  shadows,  and  the  wintry  sky, 

Not  having,  for  her  long  desire  and  prayer, 
One  sign  from  those  shut  lips,  so  rosy-fair 
It  seemed  all  eloquence  must  nestle  there. 

That  day,  to  her  near  grave,  thro'  frost  and  sleet, 

He,  following  from  his  toys  on  truant  feet, 

Cried  :  '  Mother,  mother  ! '  joyous  and  most  sweet. 

And  as  their  souls  ached  in  them  at  the  word, 

The  father  lifted  his  new-wakened  bird 

With  one  rapt  tear,  that  now  at  last  she  heard  ! 


THE   WILD   RIDE. 

HEAR  in  my  heart,  I  hear  in  its  ominous  pulses, 
All  day,  the  commotion  of  sinewy,  mane-tossing 

horses  ; 

All  night,  from  their  cells,  the  importunate  tramping  and 
neighing. 

Cowards  and  laggards  fall  back ;  but  alert  to  the  saddle, 
Straight,  grim,  and  abreast,  vault  our  weather-worn,  gal 
loping  legion, 

With  a  stirrup-cup  each  to  the  one  gracious  woman  that 
loves  him. 

The   road   is   thro'   dolor  and   dread,   over  crags  and 

morasses ; 
There  are  shapes  by  the  way,  there  are  things  that  appal 

or  entice  us  : 
What  odds  ?  W7e  are  knights,  and  our  souls  are  but  bent 

on  the  riding  ! 


THE   WILD  RIDE.  127 

/  hear  in  my  heart,  I  hear  in  its  ominous  pulses, 
All  day,  the  commotion  of  sinewy,  mane-tossing  horses ; 
All  night,  from  their  cells,  the  importunate  tramping  and 
neighing. 

We  spur  to  a  land  of  no  name,  out-racing  the  storm-wind  ; 
We  leap  to  the  infinite  dark,  like  the  sparks  from  the 

anvil. 
Thou  leadest,  O  God  !  All 's  well  with  Thy  troopers  that 

follow. 


THE   LIGHT   OF   THE    HOUSE. 

JEYOND  the  cheat  of  Time,  here  where  you  died, 

you  live ; 

You  pace  the  garden-walks  secure  and  sensitive  ; 
You  linger  on  the  stair  :    Love's  lonely  pulses  leap  ! 
The  harpsichord  is  shaken,  the  dogs  look  up  from  sleep. 

Years  after,  and  years  a/ter,  you  keep  your  heirdom  still, 
Your  winning  youth  about  you,  your  joyous  force  and 

skill, 

Unvexed,  unapprehended,  with  waking  sense  adored  ; 
And  still  the  house  is  happy  that  hath  so  dear  a  lord. 

To  every  quiet  inmate,  strong  in  the  cheer  you  brought, 
Your  name  is  as  a  spell  midway  of  speech  and  thought ; 
And  unto  whoso  knocks,  an  awe-struck  visitor, 
The  sunshine  that  was  you  floods  all  the  open  door  ! 


A   LAST   WORD   ON   SHELLEY 

|ACH  ninth  hierarchal  wave,  a.  league  of  sound, 

To  phantom  shreds  the  hostile  crags  confound, 
To  wreck  on  wreck  forlorn.     The  crags  remain. 

Smile  at  the  storm  for  our  safe  poet's  sake  ! 

Not  ever  this  ordained  world  shall  break 

That  mounting,  foolish,  foam  bright  heart  again. 


IMMUNITY. 

EAF  of  the  deep-leaved  holly-tree, 

Long  spared  the  weather-god's  disdain, 
Have  not  thy  brothers  borne  for  thee 
June's  inavertible  raging  rain  ? 

And  they  are  beautiful  and  hale, 

Those  sun-veined  revellers  ;  and  thou 

Still  crippled,  still  afraid  and  pale, 
Sole  discord  of  the  singing  bough  ! 


PAULA'S   EPITAPH. 

O  you  by  with  gentle  tread. 

This  was  Paula,  who  is  dead  : 
Eyes  dark-lustrous  to  the  look 
As  a  leaf-pavilioned  brook, 
Voice  upon  the  ear  to  cling 
Sweeter  than  the  cithern -string  ; 
Whose  shy  spirit,  unaware 
Loosed  into  refreshful  air, 
With  it  took  for  talisman, 
Climbing  past  the  starry  van, 
Names  to  which  the  heavens  do  ope, 
Candor,  Chastity,  and  Hope. 


JOHN    BROWN:   A    PARADOX. 

JOMPASSIONATE    eyes    had   our    brave    John 

Brown, 

And  a  craggy  stern  forehead,  a  militant  frown ; 
He,   the   storm-bow  of  peace.      Give    him   volley   on 

volley, 

The  fool  who  redeemed  us  once  of  our  folly, 
And  the  smiter  that  healed  us,  our  right  John  Brown  ! 

Too  vehement,  verily,  was  John  Brown  ! 
For  waiting  is  statesmanlike  ;  his  the  renown 
Of  the  holy  rash  arm,  the  equipper  and  starter 
Of  freedmen  ;  aye,  call  him  fanatic  and  martyr  : 
He  can  carry  both  halos,  our  plain  John  Brown. 

A  scandalous  stumbling-block  was  John  Brown, 
And  a  jeer ;  but  ah  !  soon  from  the  terrified  town, 
In  his  bleeding  track  made  over  hilltop  and  hollow, 
Wise  armies  and  councils  were  eager  to  follow, 
And  the  children's  lips  chanted  our  lost  John  Brown. 


JOHN  BROWN:    A   PARADOX.  133 

Star-led  for  us,  stumbled  and  groped  John  Brown, 
Star-led,  in  the  awful  morasses  to  drown ; 
And  the  trumpet  that  rang  for  a  nation's  upheaval, 
From  the  thought  that  was  just,  thro'  the  deed  that 

was  evil, 
Was  blown  with  the  breath  of  this  dumb  John  Brown  ! 

Bared  heads  and  a  pledge  unto  mad  John  Brown  ! 
Now  the  curse  is  allayed,  now  the  dragon  is  down, 
Now  we  see,  clear  enough,  looking  back  at  the  onset, 
Christianity's  flood-tide  and  Chivalry's  sunset 
In  the  old  broken  heart  of  our  hanged  John  Brown  ! 


SONNETS 


SONNETS. 


APRIL   DESIRE. 

HILE  in  these  spacious  fields  is  my  sojourn, 
Needs  must  I  bless  the  blossomy  outbreak 
Of  earth's  pent  beauty,  and  for  old  love's  sake 
Trembling,  the  bees'  on-coming  chant  discern  ; 
Hail  the  rash  hyacinth,  the  ambushed  fern, 
High-bannered  boughs  that  green  defiance  make, 
And  watch  from  sheathing  ice  the  brave  Spring  take 
Her  broad,  bright  river- blade.     Ah  !  then,  in  turn 
Long-hushed  forces  stir  in  me  ;  I  feel 
All  the  most  sharp  unrest  of  the  young  year ; 
Fain  would  my  spirit,  too,  like  idling  steel 
Be  snatched  from  its  dull  scabbard,  for  a  strife 
With  cold  oppressions  !  straightway,  if  not  here, 
In  consummated  freedom,  ampler  life. 


TWOFOLD    SERVICE. 

|HAMPIONS  of  men  with  brawny  fist  and  lung, 
You  righteous !  with  eyes  oped  and  utterance 
terse, 

Whose  greed  of  energies  would  fain  disperse 
Ere  any  mould  be  cast,  or  roundel  sung, 
Your  gentler  brothers  still  at  play  among 
The  smirch  and  jangle  of  the  universe, 
Mere  fool-blind  trespassers  for  you  to  curse, 
The  Sabbath-breakers,  the  unchristened  young ;  — 
Peace  !     These,  too,  know  :  these  are  as  ye  employed, 
Nor  of  laborious  help  and  value  void, 
Living ;  who,  faithful  to  their  fellows'  need, 
Fling  life  away  for  truth,  art,  fatherland, 
Like  a  gold  largess  from  a  princely  hand, 
Without  one  trading  thought  of  heavenly  meed. 


IN   THE   GYMNASIUM. 

LEAN  against  a  pillar  in  the  sun, 

The  sandals  loose  on  mine  arrested  feet, 
While  from  their  paths  orbicular  the  fleet 
Slim  racers  drop  like  stars.     O  loveliest  one, 
Lender  of  sixfold  wings  the  while  I  run, 
Whose  tortoise-lyre  saves  yet  for  me  its  sweet 
Cyllenic  suasions  old,  to  thy  dim  seat 
Glory  and  grace  !  the  votive  rites  are  done. 
Thy  sole  rememberer  honey  hath,  nor  palm, 
Libation  none,  nor  lamb  to  lead  to  thee, 
Ah,  Maia's  son  !  once  god,  and  once  aye-living. 
Here  stood  thy  shrine  :  here  chants  my  heart  in  calm 
Sad  as  the  centralmost  weird  wave's  at  sea, 
Hermes  !  thy  last  June  paean  and  thanksgiving. 


A   SALUTATION. 

GH-HEARTED  Surrey  !     I  do  love  your  ways, 

Venturous,  frank,  romantic,  vehement, 
All  with  inviolate  honor  sealed  and  blent, 
To  the  axe-edge  that  cleft  your  soldier-bays  : 
I  love  your  youth,  your  friendships,  whims,  and  frays  ; 
Your  strict,  sweet  verse,  with  its  imperious  bent, 
Heard  as  in  dreams  from  some  old  harper's  tent, 
And  stirring  in  the  listener's  brain  for  days. 
Good  father-poet !  if  to-night  there  be 
At  Framlingham  none  save  the  north-wind's  sighs, 
No  guard  but  moonlight's  crossed  and  trailing  spears, 
Smile  yet  upon  the  pilgrim  named  like  me, 
Close  at  your  gates,  whose  fond  and  weary  eyes 
Sought  not  one  other  down  three  hundred  years  ! 


AT  A   SYMPHONY. 

H,  I  would  have  these  tongues  oracular 

Dip  into  silence,  tease  no  more,  let  be  .' 
They  madden,  like  some  choral  of  the  free 
Gusty  and  sweet  against  a  prison-bar. 
To  earth  the  boast  that  her  gold  empires  are, 
The  menace  of  delicious  death  to  me, 
Great  Undesign,  strong  as  by  God's  decree, 
Piercing  the  heart  with  beauty  from  afar  ! 
Music  too  winning  to  the  sense  forlorn  ! 
Of  what  angelic  lineage  was  she  born, 
Bred  in  what  rapture?  —  These  her  sires  and  friends 
Censure,  Denial,  Gloom,  and  Hunger's  throe. 
Praised  be  the  Spirit  that  thro'  thee,  Schubert  !  so 
Wrests  evil  unto  wholly  heavenly  ends. 


SLEEP. 

GLORIOUS  tide,  O  hospitable  tide 
On  whose  moon-heaving  breast  my  head  hath 

lain, 

Lest  I,  all  eased  of  wounds  and  washed  of  stain 
Thro'  holy  hours,  be  yet  unsatisfied, 
Loose  me  betimes !  for  in  my  soul  abide 
Urgings  of  memory ;  and  exile's  pain 
Weighs  on  me,  as  the  spirit  of  one  slain 
May  throb  for  the  old  strife  wherein  he  died. 

Often  and  evermore,  across  the  sea 
Of  dark  and  dreams,  to  fatherlands  of  day 
O  speed  me  !  like  that  outworn  king  erewhile 
From  kind  Phasacia  shoreward  borne  ;  for  me, 
Thy  loving  healed  Greek,  thou  too  shall  lay 
Beneath  the  olive  boughs  of  mine  own  isle. 


THE   ATONING  YESTERDAY. 

E  daffbdilian  days,  whose  fallen  towers 
Shielded  our  paradisal  prime  from  ill, 
Fair  past,  fair  motherhood  !  let  come  what  will, 
We,  being  yours,  defy  the  anarch  powers. 
For  us  the  happy  tidings  fell,  in  showers 
Enjewelling  the  wind  from  every  hill ; 
We  drained  the  sun  against  the  winter's  chill ; 
Our  ways  were  barricadoed  in  with  flowers  : 

And  if  from  skyey  minsters  now  unhoused, 
Earth's  massy  workings  at  the  forge  we  hear, 
The  black  roll  of  the  congregated  sea, 
And  war's  live  hoof :  O  yet,  last  year,  last  year 
We  were  the  lark-lulled  shepherdlings,  that  drowsed 
Grave-deep,  at  noon,  in  grass  of  Arcady  ! 


'RUSSIA   UNDER   THE   CZARS.' 

IF  thraldom  and  the  accursed  diadem 

In  that  vast  snow-land,  shout  the  passionate  tale  ; 
Touch  graybeards  in  the  mart,  bid  braggarts  quail, 
And  rouse  the  student  lone  from  his  old  phlegm 
To  breathe  the  self-same  sacred  air  with  them, 
Spirits  supreme,  our  brothers  !  whose  avail 
Is  sacrifice.     Nay,  make  no  woman's  wail : 
Rome  is  re-born  !  whom  kings  dare  not  contemn. 
On  Neva's  shore-streets  tho'  high  blood  be  spent, 
There  this  lorn  world's  renascent  hopes  are  meeting  : 
In  camp  is  Mucius,  at  the  bridge,  Horatius ; 
Regulus  walks  in  gyves,  magnificent ; 
And  thence  men  hear  —  O  sound  sublime  and  gracious  ! 
The  unquelled  heart  of  Caesar's  Brutus  beating. 


FOUR  SONNETS   FROM   <LA   VITA   NUOVA.' 


'70  mi  sentii  svegliar  dentro  allo  core.' 

ITHIN  my  bosom,  from  long  apathy. 

Love's  mood  of  tenderness  extreme  awoke, 
And  spying  him  far  off,  mine  eye  bespoke 
Love's  self,  so  joyous  scarce  it  seemed  he, 
Crying  :  '  Now,  verily,  pay  thy  vows  to  me  ! ' 
And  bright  thro'  every  word  his  smile  outbroke. 
Then  stood  we  twain,  I  in  my  liege  lord's  yoke, 
Watching  the  path  he  came  by,  soon  to  see 
The  Lady  Joan  and  Lady  Beatrice 
Nearing  our  very  nook,  each  marvel  close 
Following  her  peer,  all  beauty  else  above  ; 
And  Love  said,  in  a  voice  like  Memory's  : 
'  The  first  is  Spring  ;  but  she  that  with  her  goes, 
My  counterpart,  bears  my  own  name  of  Love  ! ' 


II. 

'  Tanto  gentile  e  tanto  onesta  pare? 

O  chaste,  so  noble  looks  that  lady  mine 

Saluting  on  her  way,  that  tongues  of  some 
Are  mute  a-tremble,  and  the  eyes  that  clomb 
High  as  her  eyes,  abashed,  their  gaze  decline. 
Thro'  perils  of  heard  praise  she  moves  benign, 
Armored  in  her  own  meekness,  as  if  come 
Hither  from  Heaven,  to  give  our  Christendom 
Even  of  a  miracle  the  vouch  divine. 
So  with  beholders  doth  her  worth  avail, 
It  sheds,  thro'  sight,  a  sweetness  on  the  soul, 
(Alas  !  how  told  to  one  that  felt  it  never?) 
And  from  her  presence  seemeth  to  exhale 
A  breath  half-solace  and  of  love  the  whole, 
That  saith  to  the  bowed  spirit  '  Sigh  ! '  forever. 


III. 

4  Era  venuta  nella  mente  mia.' 

HERE  came  upon  my  mind  remembrances 

Qf  my  lost  lady,  who  for  her  reward 
Is  now  set  safe,  by  Heaven's  Most  Highest  Lord, 
In  kingdoms  of  the  meek,  where  Mary  is. 
And  Love,  whose  own  are  her  dear  memories, 
Called  to  the  sighs  in  my  heart's  wreckage  stored  : 
*  Go  ! '  whereby  outwardly,  with  one  accord, 
Not  having  ever  other  vent  than  this, 
Plaining  athwart  my  breast  they  flocked  to  air, 
With  speech  that,  oft  recalled,  draws  unaware 
The  darkened  tears  into  my  mournful  eyes ; 
And  those  that  came  in  greatest  anguish  thence 
Sang  :  '  O  most  glorious  Intelligence  ! 
Thou  art  one  year  this  day  in  Paradise.' 


IV. 

'  Deh  peregrini,  che  fensosi  andate.'' 

E  pilgrims,  who  with  pensive  aspect  go 

Thinking,  perhaps,  of  bygone  things  and  dear, 
Come  you  from  lands  so  very  far  from  here 
As  unto  us  who  watch  your  port  would  show  ? 
For  that  you  weep  not  outright,  filing  slow 
Thro'  the  mid-highway  of  this  city  drear, 
You  even  as  gentle  stranger-folk  appear, 
Who  of  the  common  sorrow  nothing  know  ! 
Would  you  but  linger,  would  you  but  be  told, 
Pledge  with  its  thousand  sighs  my  soul  doth  give 
That  you,  likewise,  should  travel  on  heart-broken  : 
Ah,  we  have  lost  our  Beatrice  !     Behold, 
What  least  soever  word  be  of  her  spoken, 
The  tears  must  follow  now  from  all  that  live. 


University  Press:  John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


Jfc.;WUJ35 

ihu},.   £fi' 

JAN    291935 

535 

'AN  9.  9  1Q95 

WTER-H&HARt 

FEB    8    'Ms 

LUAH 

A 

OCT11    1971 

•    :  iO   , 

^ 

_!__ 

LD  21-100m-8,'34 

700309 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


